cut me back // i’ll grow again

my brain told me that
she could not form words any longer
unless, they were used
for filling in the chasms
of sorrow,
of grief,
of anger,
of restlessness
that she’s built herself up to c o n t a i n

she’s a neural explosion, a synaptic disaster
“Cut me back,“ she says
”I’ll grow again!”
not a threat, as I always assumed
rather, a promise

this will not kill her
it will not kill me

‘but,’ i reply, ‘if we could just
string together
s o m e words
even one
or two at a time?
even when we don’t want to’
if we could even just try