When I Stutter

Sometimes, m’s elongate,

grow long tongues to taste the last bit

of breath my body has to offer.

Sometimes, i’s echo

like the harsh cries of a seagull,

try to fly far away from the nest of my mouth

only to circle the ocean of my uncompleted sentence.

Sometimes, my breath becomes caught

in the chamber of my throat, my head cocked back

until the word —at last— launches out of my mouth like a bullet.

or a punch.

(Sometimes, my soft, raspy voice

provides no balm to soothe the ear.)

Sometimes, I remember Daddy said my voice

sounds like Mommy’s. I rejoice then, as syllables

trip over one another like eager children

rushing toward the playground

with all the freedom her voice no longer has.

All that remains is the deep ache in my throat,

vocal cords like mud stomped flat

under the feet of my rowdy utterances.

Source: In Between Spaces: An Anthology of Disabled Writers (Stillhouse Press, 2022)