You are the blade of grass rising after being mowed.
I have mowed relentlessly, trying to make you disintegrate.
You always come back.
Causing my face to burn, my jaw clench.
Today I find those muscles relaxing
and that heat moving down to my chest
where it beats out a thank you card.
One whispered in a raspy voice that hasn’t often been used.
It’s spoken slowly,
the words come one by one,
like learning a new language.
I feel the grinding words on my tongue- jagged edges, bulky lines, a kindergarten alphabet.
They’re not the flowing sentences I’m used to weaving together.
These clunk out of my mouth,
sometimes getting stuck between teeth
and having to be picked out by my fingers.
They fall to the floor with a pebble clatter.
You pick them up,
a handful of words feasted upon by hungry eyes-
they crinkle around the edges and look into my own.
The words silently go into your pocket
and your now free hands clasp mine.