Poems for the End of the World: Small Swallows

how many times
have i forced my tongue
down
inside
and not
a joyous lapping
a uvula flicking
but heavy and still
a bunker
waiting for the storm to pass?

how many times
have i folded myself
into myself
accordion invisible
pressed flat into a wall
under a table
become so small
and so sorry
that you feel
so small
around me?

Leave a Reply