Tongues

Becoming the raspberry stain on the pink of   your cheek,

a tongue’s soft landing spot. Becoming the empty ritual,

what can’t be said. Becoming intercession, my language

becoming yours, the blessing of tongues. Becoming the river

in the belly, implanted language, dead boy’s song. Becoming dry

with manhood. Becoming the doors we’ve closed, those I’ve learned

to open with a tongue. Becoming seen in the body, witnessed, becoming

clarity, the fear of it. Becoming the name I’ve been given,

the honorific, a placeholder. Becoming postured

to my Father’s dilemma, the inherited tongue. Becoming

what I wish I could be on my own. Becoming kept,

becoming stolen, becoming made free to leave when I am not yet ready

to go. Becoming the might of what we serve, the oft-

invisibled. Becoming ​don’t look back​, pillar of salt. Becoming idoled.

Becoming possessed. Becoming the body’s mettle, the tongue’s chisel.

Becoming compass. Becoming the help that I needed, my Father’s hidden

forgiveness. Becoming the secrets I hope to taste in you,

the wounded tongue, braided blood covenant. Becoming forbidden’s

starting point, a bold beginning, the flaying of   what I do not yet know I believe.