— Harry Lafnear

I’ve polished the last of what pearls there were
lodged under the oyster of my tongue
and laid them out on the lawn
so I no longer rattle through the day.
I am not the slightest surprised that the hollow left
feels not as empty as when it craned
with its buzzing cargo.
That the truth could ever be finished was
startling at the first,
but far less so than the notion it would ever begin.
Some words are just too small to feel in the throat,
no matter how jagged the seed.
They stick until soothed, round and smooth,
and too swollen to push thoughtlessly from the gullet.
They are a birth to divulge
and a drowning to swallow;
peaceful and lovely, only after
and from afar.

One thought on “Done

  1. Spoken like a true poet, Harry! This is incredible! I have never read about the creative process depicted like this, yet as a poet, it feels so innately intuitive to how I approach my writing. You got me at the first line with the metaphor of pearls, and that image of the tongue as an oyster is genius! (I am going to steal it)! That metaphor builds layer upon layer until at the end, the poem itself is a pearl, bright and brilliant!

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