my thread always pulls toward words
words that come flying out of my mouth
in frustration or anger or coldblooded truth
or words of happiness and love

they come to me in all sorts of places
when i’m speaking with people in pain
i think of the words deep in my soul
that would work to heal them (me)

on my bike with a song a sunrise a wind
i might hear the words trampling across
my mind, forming pieces of a poem that
will, hours later, meet its page.

my thread includes the snippets of speech
from my daughters, the bits and pieces
of other authors, phrases from lyrics
and emails and letters (tied together)

always, the thread pulls me toward words
(I was born with them in my mouth, caught
like blackberries, their juice pungent and sweet
at the same time, ready to drip down my chin)