the girls speak to each other via the common tongue
Ellen Welcker




                                       I am here

                                                                                           here with my

                                                                                           weighted, fraught




                 no explanation



                                                                                                      endless iterations



       infinity of slants


                                                                               that all sound like asking



       to become feral is


                                                                                                      to metamorphose



                       with and into





                                                     how                    I know


                                                               how                       I know


                                       what                 you’re doing


                                                     with                   your mouth



       a slow build to recognizable



                                                                                           a sister is a kind of a sister



                 for talking gibberish


                                                                               in supermarkets


or to love and miss


                                                                                           to rhino and horse


       to hate and grass-hate



                                                               I never wanted to die, like

                                                                               that scrape on my tender under



       never wanted to kill myself

       talk gibberish in supermarkets








                                                                               language and trees



                 don’t want to be “used”



                                                                                                      I do not crave

                                                                                                      a fake beef braid


                       just a board to break

                                       w my mind



                                                               a little nurse in the eye



                                                     for sadness




Ellen Welcker is the author of Ram Hands (Scablands Books, 2016) & The Botanical Garden (Astrophil Press, 2010). This poem is part of a book-length poem called “The Pink Tablet.” She lives in Spokane, WA.