The Silences We Pay For Later

by nathaniel calhoun

the bitten tongue lets loved ones be bitter

when they must. grudges bloom after flood

then molder first grasping then plangent.

bad advice halfway heard

becomes a gut feeling.

the possible cost of speaking up besets us.

prudence hangs itself in the balance.

a snowfall of moths fledge together

fresh and misled betrayed by light.

promptness and passion go missing

their former quarters all tagged up

beautifully in a way but soon overwritten.

distance heightens need

narrowing targets to pinholes.

a private process of unstunning the self

pings back to forestall scrutiny.

potatoes beneath the sink probe

for entry points to a tenable homeland.

emissaries attenuate in decline

a jumble in the pale turns

to terrible juice.

preservation is a narrow art between rot

drowning and very quiet madness.

wanderers gather far from home haunting

wherever they land.

on the edge of their seats apologies ripen

falling unspoken as compost

on a lost trowel. sometimes it’s hard

to muster loving words and praise

sticks in the throat.

use the cooling sun-glanced moments

when watering matters most

and offer love to those you say you love

or spend whole pie slices of life trying

to make it ok that you didn’t.