Taking Your Life

Frank Stanford

The man's tongue laid down beside him when he slept.
The man did not know it.
He thought his tongue was safe and quiet
In the pillow of his mouth.
The man thought his tongue was his wife.

The man did not know his tongue
Dreamed of touching others,
Longing with pain, moaning with pleasure.

One night the man woke and had no voice.
He felt his mouth, saw that his tongue was gone.

He went through the bars looking for his tongue.
He wanted to drink, but he couldn't.
He wanted to sing, but he couldn't.
He envied the musicians.
He heard his tongue was with another.

He went home, sad and imaginary
With desire.
He dreamed he was a musician,
That his tongue heard him one night,
Fell in love with him,
Came back to live in his mouth.

This was a dream.

His own tongue, the soft root of his death.
It would fly
Out of its lair, light in a tree,
Cast its own shadow on the man.

The man with no voice, no lovers.

Ginny Stanford