American Literary Magazine
Tongue Twister Jamie Klinger Much of my childhood was spoken. Sitting in silent rooms, so still, shaking my seat sent shockwaves soaring. I sat slouched, sliding s’s between sorry slits, soupy syllables stuck someplace I struggled to see. She sometimes smiled, she sometimes shook and shook and shook, sorry, sally sold…? Say Seashell Say Sunshine Say Santa as my sister and I stared, stitching S together with stupid strength. I stole respite in slurring and lollipops, lilting loudness like leapfrogs lumped on lily pads. I lulled, learning letters that languished living like lords beyond my leisure, loathing low loads leveling up in my tonsils. Lackluster learning, living lesson to lesson, until I could speak.
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