Urban Tongue

Patricia Cronin

I taste words on my tongue like corn husk and orchard
feeling each letter and syllable come out of my mouth with the
knowledge of a complete sentence.

I need to describe the stream,
its rush and urgent journey,
with authority spun from ankle-deep hours
in the cold water.

We speak the language of the earth that is under our feet.
And so I stutter when I say concrete and
crab grass. A splintered coughing of hard "c's".
I mimic childhood check-ups with the long “aaaa” in alleyway -
words sadly imprinted on soles
too far from home.

Copyright © 2007 Patricia Cronin. All rights reserved.