The Lesson Buried in Tongue

I played the scene over, words slipping like wet stones,

tongue tangled, phrases tangled tighter.

If only I’d known the curve of a sentence,

how to shape it sharp enough

to cut through the gray,

I might have spoken louder.

Now the crumpled note folds itself into pockets,

a secret I folded away with the afternoon light.

Too late for the words that would have stopped it,

too late for the moment I could have held,

just a whisper trapped behind clenched teeth.