The Tongue Lisps in Its Hilarious Panic

titled with a line by Lyn Hejinian

The lisp went unnoticed
because I was mute as a swan,
     no one spoke to me
in turn I spoke to no one,
     it was time as river
and the river long as the Hudson,
not a stroke of it depicted by the River School.
     I hear tulip trees blossom
in showy fashion, though, not yet.
     Fond of existentialists, I gave them up
once I had children. That soft fontanel
another universe. Winter breeze wraps
     round the house, sliding door open
to screen—bones in an aviary.
A mandolin plays while we shell peas
     in memory. The scent of cellar
brings it home, as does the booze
that sweats from the man’s pores.
     Simone curated parochial girls for Sartre.
I’m not convinced this is feminism.
     This morning a corvid bathed
perched on a tree branch. 
I long for nothing other than birdsong.

Read more from Issue 22.1.