10.12.17 – Speared
I was eager to adopt an accent and act like I was borne of elsewhere. I could hide in the dialect but it only really made shade when you catered to the details of speaking it. I was normally gargling the words and letting them force their way out like too many bodies squeezing through a doorway. Those listeners looked on as though I was just spilling marbles from my mouth in some queer presentation. The critics were waving away with feather and far thought and I was sweating to think of the print that might arrive at dawn for this muddy mention.
It was never about reciting known lines but acting on improv and imagining myself forgetting I was plucked and placed. Here, of all spaces… I didn’t wake and watch my face wander through the mirror in open monologue, instead I let all the pacing take its air in my head. I didn’t stumble there. No lisp to cut my meanings in half or steal the star from its shining sentence. I couldn’t have stuttered with the confidence I showed in stealing the breath from that silvered boy. It was like pinching his voice from his throat and swallowing to make my own. I would have thought it cruel if joy wasn’t both our result.
I hide the hard words behind mumbling and mean to make matters my own with a fine flourish. It was familiar to the frequent ear; the song of a traveler that strayed too far from his own and was lapsing into the luxury of his course. I was wanting to become a part of the ensemble, the crowd that stood transfixed and tried to catch the peals and silence that stretched off a mangled and beautiful use of language. We lay in it, happily reflecting on the unexpected turns and drawn out tones and hoping for a moment that it just might catch.