Posts Tagged ‘not speaking’

As a bundle of hay, when carried,
becomes heavier and heavier,

so it is with words we swallow.
They begin, light as the leaf

of a forget-me-not, light as
a golden straw of hay, just a hair

heavier than breath. But the longer
the words go unsaid and the more

of them we swallow,
the more they gain weight,

the more they cripple us unspeaking ones,
and soon it is as if we had swallowed a bed

of river stones. Sometimes
we can no longer move at all,

so burdened we become. Sometimes
it takes a complete falling apart

to release all that weight, all those
pent words. No one wants this, of course,

some great spilling. The gaping wound.
The chaos. The words, and the fear

wrapped around them, exposed.
But it is not so bad as we think.

Sometimes, once bare to the sun
and clear air, the words break out

of the calcified layers
and we see them for all they are,

tiny boxes into which
we pack our worst fears, our dreams,

our anger, our desire, our bliss. We open
the boxes and whatever inside has not
turned to dust grows wings,

and our mouths open, perhaps in awe, perhaps
wishing they’d fly back in.

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