Mother Tongue

Mother Tongue by Rick Folker March 15, 2017 Words... Words bereft of beauty bitter words barely concealing the viscious intent of opaque surfaces concealing truth with the fake, urging us to destroy - not to make swallowing the ashes; leaving rage in their wake Separating the hater from the hate But I too, have words Words that patiently ripen beneath that opaque substrate they wait, they wait Roiling like lava my words. They strain to remember - Ashen shades of history's mistakes The faulty rememberings We continue to remake Of sharp words, hate words I have no need to take. Is it possible that now; After so much time, after so much pain We still ache and break? Are we unable to create, celebrate, or possibly embrace? Can we find the courage re-speak, re-learn The I in me, the thou in you and find! fail! but at least try to imagine better words, healing words Or are we to gather the ashes of bitterness again?