His Tongue, and: Dear Letter

His Tongue

Tongue with the short wings.

Tongue without electricity. Becausethe men in hard hats were unableto repair last night’s storm damage.

Tongue that likes biting itself. Likeslistening to the Bee Gees. “When I wassmall and Christmas trees were tall.”

Tongue chafing against a chipped molarat the bottom of his mouth. On the left.

Tongue with an overcast sky on the outside.Four sacred ibises in a slow paddling row.An ocean in place of his bed.

Tongue by the morning swollen from licking salt.

Tongue in the brown tweed jacket inheritedfrom his grandfather. Cigarette burnson the left sleeve.

Where the heart should be.

Tongue at the opposite end of his hands.The end where betrayal begins.

Dear Letter

For mother

1.I am writing to tell youthat the burninghas begun.

2.Although it is still cold at night,the lemon treeoutside the kitchen dooralready has white blossoms.

3.Yesterdayon the freewaydriving backI rode over a small buck.

4.Smoke from the firesfilled the inside of my car,even with all the windowstightly shut.

5.There was a small dambeside the roadand somehow the sunhad fallen into it.

6.I am sorrybut when I saw you yesterday(after such a long time)it struck me suddenlythat you were an old womanand not a mother any more.

7.There are some knotsit seemsthat are possible to undoeven if they have been tied tight.

8.The small buck on the freewaywas already dead.But that did not stop itmaking a soundagainst the undercarriage.

9.A strangeflat soundlike the echo of somethingthat long agohad stopped happening.

10.It is that time,as I said.The burning has begun.

11.All the animals are fleeing.

12.Your eyes.Oh mother,your eyes.

13.Filled with so much smoke.