floating and leaving no trace
i dreamed once
that my parents
[both dead]
were alive again
and reconciled
and living in a
large house
even the
dream me knew
this fiction
poorly written
and all i wanted
was to
wake up
there was no
longing for home
just the need
to get away
from the lie
of it all
i apologize, homer,
i don’t have a goddess
to invoke or a pathetic
fighter to prop up
only my poor verses
all useless jargon
metaphor and simile
meter and rhyme
or rhythm at least
but i will whisper my true name
to an acorn
and plant it at the crossroads
every leaf and twig
will sigh my secrets
when autumn bares the trees
my words will blow about you
stick to your shoes
and you will pluck out
of your hair while gazing
in your mirror
the backs of my teeth
are rough
rough enough to make
my tongue tip bleed
from brushing against
them
it’s too bad because
i had so much to say
and now blood
dribbles down my chin
when i try to speak
you ask
what did you do to get
the backs of your teeth
so screwed up
i tell you through
lips coated in pink
froth
it was the words
that hammered against them
while i clenched my jaw
held my peace
the acid of every word
i forced myself to swallow
staining them
eating away at them
making them sharp
and hollow
like dead coral
the sky is smooth and gray
like concrete
my words are featureless
leeched of color
like concrete
three black crows harass a fourth
she has something in her beak
limp and glistening
against this morning sky
they are the only
movement
sound
color
you are my paper
i dip my fingers
deep into black ink
write words
on your skin
new words no one
can pronounce
except as a low moan
at the back
of the throat
chasing after air
long since escaped
an inverse
relationship–
as the space
between us two
has increased
we become less
less like friends, less like ourselves
a direct
relationship–
as the time
has decreased
of all our
conversations
the words themselves grow shorter
like a bird
it’s an event
when you move
my aim falters
you take flight
you disappear
and my field of view empties
——
the secret keeper
Weekly Writing Prompt #32
(5) Words: | SPACE | FRIEND | EVENT | MOVE | AIM |
(This week it’s a Whitney; hat tip to Doug at Elusive Trope for introducing me to this form.)
in the graveyard in my chest
buried things
we don’t say anymore
decay
a reliquary of abandoned words
discarded phrases
each bound by
invisible threads
unbreakable threads
to that singular muscle
also trapped in my chest
with no shovel
to break the frozen ground
i try to dig them out
using my fingers
but pull back hands
broken, bloody, covered in bites
where the silence set its teeth
my words disappear as i type
them like some kind of magic
trick like when i was a
kid and had disappearing
ink that you could squirt and the
color would evaporate
only now it’s words on
the screen little black
marks that wink out of existence
almost as soon as i type
them and what happens
when my voice fades away
as soon as i speak
but then that
already
i looked back
at a year’s worth of words
and found
my words had all
been used up
i didn’t know i had
a quota
but there they were
every last one
written out
trying to call up more
felt like coughing up dust
like trying to cast a shadow
in a darkened room
or playing tag with ghosts
luckily
the wind punched
a heart-shaped hole
in the clouds
and i was momentarily
saved
they stick in your throat
the words
they struggle
under your adam’s apple
a constriction
a spasm of the muscles
poorly coordinated nerves
preventing them from exiting
they stick
“i’m sorry”
try to swallow them down
“i was wrong”
let them
let them
let them open your mouth
let them open your mouth
“i was wrong”
let them be heard
“i love you”
Words and Feathers 