the next day it will be
nearly invisible
as if the stone has
swallowed it.
If you tuck the name of a loved one
under your tongue too long
without speaking it
it becomes blood
sigh
the little sucked-in breath of air
hiding everywhere
beneath your words.
No one sees
the fuel that feeds you.
Submitted by R. Joyce Heon
Similar Posts
Tiny keyboard bearing the massive reverie of the past—
marching with saints, leaving the Red River Valley…here is every holiday you hated, every hard time,each steamy summer wish. You closed your eyesin the wooden stairwell, leaning your head against the wall,knowing a bigger world loomed. It’s still out there,and it’s tucked in this keyboard too,now we are an organ, now we are an oboe,now…
We made it from the ground-up corn in the old back pasture.
popped it right in.That frog song wanting nothing but echo?We used that.Stirred it widely. Noticed the clouds while stirring.Called upon our ancient great aunts and their long slow eyesof summer. Dropped in their names.Added a mint leaf now and thento hearten the broth. Added a note of cheer and worry.Orange butterfly between the claps of…
‘It is believed that the onion originally came from India. In Egypt it was an
entered Greece and on to Italy, thence into all of Europe.’ — Better Living CookbookWhen I think how far the onion has traveledjust to enter my stew today, I could kneel and praiseall small forgotten miracles,crackly paper peeling on the drainboard,pearly layers in smooth agreement,the way the knife enters onionand onion falls apart on the…
Choose one word and say it over
Adhafera, the one who holds out, Alphard, solitary one,the stars were named by people like us.Each night they line up on the long path between worlds.They nod and blink, no right or wrongin their yellow eyes. Dirah, little house,unfold your walls and take us in.My well went dry, my grandfather’s grapeshave stopped singing. I stir…
We forget that we are all dead men conversing wtih dead men.
For the first time, on the road north of Tampico,I felt the life sliding out of me,a drum in the desert, harder and harder to hear.I was seven, I lay in the carwatching palm trees swirl a sickening pattern past the glass.My stomach was a melon split wide inside my skin.‘How do you know if…
Some nights
makes his long way backto the bowl of peaches.He stands on the dining room tablesinking his toothdrinking the pulpof each fruity turned-up faceknowing you will readthis message and scream.It is his only text,to take and take in darkness,to be gone before you awakenand your giant feetstart creaking the floor.Where is the mother of the rat?The…