Regular I said

"Regular," I said,

the word like grit.

The barista, quick with a grin,

asked, "Where you from, then, really?"

My tongue felt fat, a clumsy thing,

tripping on the rounded sound,

a childhood sound, almost found,

then lost again, like a dream.

I'd filed it down,

that burr, that rough edge,

for years, for ease, for getting by,

trying to make my speech lie

flat, anonymous, no tell.

But it still catches,

a snagged thread

on a perfectly smooth spell.