I have heard that there are people
Who manage the motions of their lives
Without the days when it hurts
To choose and also to be still
And that in their stillness they do not tremble
And their throats never fill with stones
When they mean to laugh.
Do you think these people
Know what their memories felt like?
Do they know what they are saying all of the time,
And how often do they say what they mean,
And does it ever come out muddled?
Do their ears always hear syllables in the right order?
Because sometimes I can't understand
My mother tongue and all the details of my life
Have the fat cut off.
Bare bone truths not fit to bring
To table, and when I do
It all goes to the dogs.