Plant 3

By Kelsey Bryan-Zwick

The word on my tongue
is huesos
like a whisper
un susurro

hangs like the mist
of an overcast morning
over cold in a familiar coastal city
a home

The space under my tongue
un espacio, a pause
a translation stuck in my teeth
a rhythmic palpitation of my heart

mi corazón
con razón

with reason
the reason

reassembled like so much
IKEA furniture
after the move
a little loose
a little off-kilter
a little misshapen

The shape of my tongue
besos, besitos
neck cranes to be
cheek to cheek

blowing a kiss
across the bow and tilt
of every greeting
an embrace

The noise in my tongue
es un grito, el principio de poemas
the grit in me that spits
twists and shouts

aims, takes fire
I don’t just love, amo

The taste on my tongue
bocadillos, naranjas, tortillas
aceite, ajo, y paella

chew and suckle
sizzle and sweet
spice adds heat

Las palabras sobre mi lengua
son agua, me aguantan

the words are
water, our water
to quench
unyielding thirst

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