in the beginning there was the word

which I held in the coffin

of my throat, sacred and silent.

i dared not swallow all

the holiness resting on my tongue.

what would happen?

would it set my insides aflame?

would i have the gift of tongues?

perhaps the scales of my eyes

would flake and fall away.

 

the word wants to get out,

to fly the coop and go somewhere warm

but i hold it down beneath my tongue.

the word looks out at the world

from behind the cage of my teeth.

the word wants to leave me, wants

to explore the world which it loves

like its own child but i’m not going

to open my mouth. i’ve learned

that leaving means leaving

no matter what words you use.