Tuesday, January 3, 2012
I had a disturbing confrontation with an acquaintance this summer. As always, when I can't get over my fear or anger over something that has happened, I find it helpful to write a poem about it. Sometimes I have to write several, if something is really upsetting. I probably wrote at least 15 poems and two narrative stories about my grandfather dying before I started feeling like I could lay those feelings to rest.
Thankfully, the event I wrote about here was only a one-poem event. And here is the one poem:
My tongue is a leech.
I cannot speak the magic words to break this spell.
When I do try to speak,
frogs and snakes fall from my lips
and drop to the ground, cracking their heads
or slithering away, impotent.
Your words are the words of power-
forceful, intense, quick.
Scaly locusts shoot from your open mouth,
flapping and scratching and slapping my face.
There is no prince for this leech-tongued girl;
all I can do is limp away and hide
with locusts buzzing in my ears.