The Soft Muscle

The soup was too hot.

I felt the skin go tight

and then the sting of the blister

behind my front teeth.

In the mirror, I pull back my lip.

It is a wet, red muscle

that doesn't know how to say

that I am sorry.

It sits in the dark

of my mouth, heavy and shy,

anchored to the throat

by a cord I cannot see.

It is hard to use

something so soft

to fix something so hard.