The Same Spot

I bit it Wednesday, in the pause

before I said the thing I didn't say.

My tongue found the ridge without a cause

it could explain. That was two days

ago. It's Friday. Still I press

the raised edge where the tissue tore,

the way you check a bruise. I guess

the tongue just needs to know it's there once more.

Fourteen people in that room.

The man across the table waiting.

I swallowed it. The small, specific bloom

of tissue. The tongue keeps locating

the same spot. The ridge. The bite.

The thing I didn't say on Wednesday night.