A Word Well-Trodden

Say something
in the tongue of thistle seed
say in the language of snake grass
by the order of the cow path
a word well-trodden
worn as the cuff of your greatcoat
the one with the torn silk lining
something thrifty, smaller than
a postcard of Belgium
--never mind the lace and the chocolate--
Something, say, the size of a stamp
the one with Elvis
ink-greased hairshine
and a Redbubble microphone
O a-word-or-two man
cock-in-a-holster
say no one wears crinoline
fingering your sideburns
the unshaven bristle-burn
of your tweed jacket
is a language
I once knew
cashmere and camel hair
and a good haircut
a warm lap, a Pomeranian muff
the pup with milky eyes
that blinked each time
you lifted your demitasse
say cafe con leche
and a hot buttered croissant
and on the wall Kokoschka
landscapes compartmentalized
by horizons
or the open loop
of a Munch mouth
each line electric neon
say for the sweet sake
of the Virgin in the bathtub
the crumbling plaster up-against-the-wall
hallway thrust-love was a one-off
and the toxic paint chips ground
into my ass were a hallucination
like Eames chairs juggled by a street punk
outside Belvederegasse
zinnias blooming from a decanter
and a day-glo hula hoop snake charmer
say, would you, the fine-boned waiter from Taiwan
looked away when you spasmed
he carried the tray like an Olympian
say something to drown the death-bleats
of locomotion car after car a sledgehammer
horn-in-the-heart a hole the size of Arkansas
O say can you see by the flickering shadow
haunting the ceiling by the cathedral cobblestone
the cold stone and your hollyhock hand
and the word well-trodden in the language
of every word you never said or thought to say
by all of the lace in Bruges spooled out
to the ends of the earth
by the cow-path by the order of
the unsayable
do it with an accent

By Reka Jellema
August 2014