27 September 2011
Another poem from me
I get very quiet and rarely speak at all
Do not mistake my silence for a treatment
or an anger that rises like a drum roll
from an orchestra. It is a hold
I use to keep my thoughts on the pavement.
Do not mistake my inaction for surrender,
a throwing up of hands. I only give
up to the trail I walk, to this love
that guides my hands that write each letter.
Do not mistake my life for my breath.
Do not mistake my quiet stare for a swallowed tongue.
I do not eat or breathe the diphthongs
I create. They are rare and precious.