by Lacey Smith

Smith 02.20.2005
by Lacey Smith

If just a name, I dare not take the syllables as my own
It was never mine to share, a source of pain
of black and of night
of years of waiting and our crooked teeth

We dare not lay our claim on it
for it is too common and easy to see
myself within its casing, my red enclosed
around it.

We kept the anonymity, a pack of nameless hearts
(minds sharp, souls bruise, the tongues all writhing)

We kept it in spite of the other, too sharp
a pallette pricked in the stumbling

it would not flow without the cold-heart tongue
und auch mein leben, ein Name kaputt
we kept it in a kitchen drawer

we were too young to know but now
we abandon completely the misguided whim
I am measuring the first to every him I meet

(I don't find it odd nor sweet but rather
something like hopeful to think)

perhaps this is it, the missing link!
in a chain of letters I could not forget

the name will not rhyme, it will syntactically dance
it will break through the grave and determine the respite

An honor not worthy, entirely unfit
(the moaning of my years and years of
nameless regret)


Author's Note: I'd been thinking it awhile now, and I simply had to write it. I am posting it for now, I will revise later.

Posted on 02/21/2005
Copyright © 2022 Lacey Smith

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