Untitled by Amalee

untitled

poetry by Amalee

when will words again be incense smoke, poured out over waiting and supplicant hands Words undoing the undone re-raveling the frayed edges, a self, submerged,

water swirling up around the ankles of the forlorn teacher, left where the students can’t tread. When will language be returned to me? Float here on the edges of the world, umbilical cut undone years ago, slithering toward a benevolent fang listening a quiet pain waiting where the edges done bled: supplicant language, a silence. supplicant self, this water rising.

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