in a wolf den

Sarah Chapman

succumbed by water

filled with hate and hot spit

i ate and ate

gorged myself with it

dressed myself in it

filled my lungs with the bathwater of my childhood

mouth sticky with misunderstanding

the unmastered, unclear word that was

my heart

fruitful, pregnant with potential

so as each time i part my lips

as if to say

take me away from here

take me away

take me away

to a place where my mind

she can rest easy

in a bed laid down by god herself

and all her goodness

un’accoglienza della parolla

fammi entrare

fammi entrare

so as my tongue can be coated slick

with saliva and silence

while the words slip into the vast empty space of nothingness

that was quiet

that was kinship

that was the drip of a faucet

where not the bedrock creaks

or the young ones speak

and the bath water runs cold

as i have run ice deep