They say “word salad” when mouth puckers
syllables wrong, words garble, “word” could mean
decimal, “salad” could be love,
my mouth puckers to say “I love you”
but doesn’t. Somewhere,
deep in sour belly I was taught
vermillion not crimson love
and you watch to see if I am brave
enough to lose you and watch disgust
again. My lips, my palette cannot
tumble courage and my mouth
erupts malachite, my lungs aspen,
and you wait for the right words,
slight smile, as I yell consonance,
when I mean:
let me unfold you,
like lettuce, leaf, by sacred leaf,
let me untie you,
let you spread out your scars before me
as feast, and I will not break
you from stalk, ruffage no matter,
I will learn your blend of shades,
your bristles, your horizon,
all the language you hold tight,
knowledge typed into chest, belly,
and me.
Kim Malinowski is a lover of words. Her collection Home was published by Kelsay Books and her verse novel Phantom Reflection was published by Silver Bow Publishing. The Fool's Journey is forthcoming from Vraeyda Literary and Buffy's House of Mirrors is forthcoming from Q, an imprint of Querencia Press. We Could Be Lovers is forthcoming from Nightingale & Sparrow Press. She was nominated for the Pushcart Prize, Best of Net, and the Rhysling Award. She writes because the alternative is unthinkable. kimmalinowskipoet.com
