IN MY LANGUAGE

the word for thank you, “tack,” is short and bright
like a good clang 

on a tuning fork, it reverberates in the space 
between host and guest,

its vibrato cuts through any post-dinner
reverie, the two hard 

consonants, the quick vowel. “Thank you “
with the lazy vowels 

and shuffling echo adds to an after-dinner malaise
and can’t free us

standing by the door to her rich home
her eyebrows quick like little birds rising,

warblers perhaps, but not shy, or the nuthatch
climbing up the fat trunk of her face.

Thank you! I try again and see juncos jump
forward in the snow 

only to scratch the surface in swift clawing motions
to unveil a crumb

or a seed. A seed is a seed if it nourishes.
The husk just blows away.

PUBLISHED IN REDACTIONS: POETRY & POETICS

Summer, 2023