The Words

I want to see you channel your pain they sayI want to see it translate on to the page.I want to see that tear that's falling down your right cheekbe the way for you to see the blurriness of a life.That way in which you bite your tonguethe way you shiver in the sunlight.The things you say to try to make sensein the morning, when the birds start chirping their song.They don't know words, but they are theonly ones who know music.You are the last one to say my name.I want the circular faces of the worldto dance around me singing my song.I want the world to wait, wait for me to figure it out.I'm saying, saying nothing at all.I'm being, being nothing either.I am what I am. What will be will be.I can yell at you fast, or do it slowbut I will have to say what's in meat some point now, later is not an option anymore.I stand here with henna on my handswatching the wind twist your hairand I want to touch your shoulderand feel the sable leather on your jacket.I want to sit in the twilightand wait for your words as they come outone by one, saying my life.I want you to sing so the braids in my haircan breathe and my lips can move.I want to be your background noisethe sound in your ears when you cry.How many of us are still teething,hurting, trying to become able to talk?This one's for you, the one we forgot aboutthe one sitting in the last rowbehind the trash can with a banana peelsticking to its side.I can smell you, you smell better than that.When I think of you I remember my mother's handsand the thin skin around her tiny pinki.I remember the gold rings she woreshe never took them off, even in the night.I remember a song about a dogin the blue light of the old garagewhere we used to park our bikesnow there is nothing but dust and windwhere movement used to stand.Moving is an art, I'm trying hard notto compete with my beating heart.I say no, I do want to die, not this daybut the day when nothing remindsme of your feet in those silly slippersand your red nose in the winter snow.I don't know where I'm going or where I've come fromand I don't know how to tell youthe rest of this story. About a manmaking it up as he goes along.Eating pie when it's time to eat pie.Dancing, when others sit it out.You were the one, the only onewho asked me that night if I am a songand I said I don't know the words.And you said it's OK I'll still sing along.nina