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