In Theaa Tangled Words
In these tangled words books try to say
What they know. SnajMibots try to Tell our searete. But our story Is not
In picture books of
little girls
who
Went astray posing like Skeletons before the
Backdrop of a
life.
Are not aonoert
The settings
halls, or faces grinning
Beneath a peachbud
Bkyk
Stages or glaring screens.
The story
is
And you and
made of you and you all those we do not remember
But we never forget
-
our lost cities
Our frozen love affairs, our faint songs
Whose words
still stick to the
Roofs of our mouths and make our
Mouths dry; all these things and more
And more and
more; silly things, unspeakable
Things we laugh over in the light and
Weep over in our sleep;
Knew too
Ulps
we
well, the food that never
Filled us, the hands that understood.
There
We
is
die,
no sequel; we
we
die,
live.
We
die.
without an
Epilogue or a proper end, without second starts
Or resolution. Yet these tangled words Still try to tell our story.
Snapshots try to tell the secrets
We have never
told a soul.
--Jonnlfer-Mae Barlzo
