​My tongue is restless.
Pressing
against the roof
of my mouth.
Blocking
my epiglottis,
cutting off the flow
of my breath,
the flow,
in or out.
Leaving my uvula to
hang
like an empty
wind sock,
dangle.
The voice of a
mockingbird
that never sang
before it strangled.
My tongue is swollen
like a storm-filled creek,
swollen and pressing,
against the back of my teeth.
Leaving scalloped impressions
like the shields
of riot police.
Trying to contain
a river
rushing over its banks
flooding into the streets.
My tongue is insistent,
my spirit resolute.
My tongue is not blind
my heart is not mute.
My tongue is my trumpet
sounding the call.
It echoes throughout Jericho,
tear down these walls.

M. Zane McClellan

Copyright © 2016
All rights reserved

Advertisements