Cat bites my tongue
holding onto words
like gravity keeping my feet on earth
invisible but effective,
relishing silence on this dreary gray day.
As cat’s tail flicks,
a garbled refrain of grittled syllables rises
from cracks in the swell of my purloined tongue
(something about eating canaries
as antithetical to humility).
Perseverating on yellow,
chains disappear like teeth.
Cat lays claim to feathers
triggered by a spray of syllables
whose sarcasm blooms,
freeing my tongue to bleed the story
down this empty white page.
Brenda Warren 2012
Process Notes: We are having a dreary gray weekend, and nothing worth posting came for me yesterday. This morning, when I made writer’s block my topic, this piece came. Initially, “whose sarcasm blooms” was “whose planted sarcasm blooms,” but alas, I like it better without planted…. Plant is the only word I don’t use in this piece.
Visit The Sunday Whirl to read more pieces using the 13 words in the wordle below.