Tongue, Endangered

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Years ago, our language thawed,
each letter pressed against my chest.

Now, I feel you in exhales—
collage of trees fathered by wind.

The almost-animal in me folds
a memory of our room in half.

I sit in the corner with unswept
sunlight & spiders, hungry

for your voice. I am one word
too many, a bruise factory,

unapologetic for the noun
of my body. My hips,

parenthesis. Not even the maple
can look away. But you,

you are the wonderful one,
smile like a C-section scar,

mouthing the river blue,
never making a noise.

Tongue, Endangered

Photo used under CC.

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About Author

Sarah Rhiannon Escue is a poet, editor, visual artist, and MFA candidate at The Jack Kerouac School of Disembodied Poetics. Her poems appear or are forthcoming in Gulf Stream, DIALOGIST, So To Speak, Wildness, DIAGRAM, Rogue Agent, Hermeneutic Chaos Journal, and elsewhere. Her visual art is forthcoming in Idle Magazine, The Murmur House, Tooth n Nail Anthology, and After the Pause. The former poetry editor and social media coordinator for Saw Palm: Florida Literature and Art currently serves as the assistant editor at The Adirondack Review. In 2015 and 2016, Sarah won the Bettye Newman Poetry Award, and she has been awarded fellowships from The Bucknell Seminar for Younger Poets and Writers in Paradise. In 2016, her poem “Winter” was nominated for the Best of the Net Anthology. She currently resides in Boulder, Colorado with her partner and their French bulldog, Oliver.

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