Poem by Angela Arnold
The words lined up nicely – didn’t they just.
Big and small, banging their pans
till their echoes rattled in my tight chest,
their once-, twice-swallowed meaning
doing its level best to squeeze clear
of the Light, into the light of day:
my throat just a handy device, a dispenser, me
just by the way, coincidental.
Next, and without another word,
a sudden silence
clamoured – it all went
on its way, the better to please itself.
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