The Good China

Sometimes I feel like I’m speaking a different language

One that is connected to my heart

And not to the world around me

I swallow, feel my tongue where it runs down the back of my throat

It doesn’t stop there

Fastened down hard like other tongues

Instead it unravels like a rope into the depths of my soul

I swallow

And try to keep the words from falling quite so squarely, truthfully

I trap them, spin them into something more normal

Before they give me away and mark me not ordinary

“Nice weather we are having” I toss

Yes, well received as what nots usually are

It will do for now

Some words are just for saying any old how

Others are like the special lounge in my grandmothers house

Rarely used and only on special occasions

Dark and plush and deep

Rarely do those words ever leap blithely

They don’t get bounced around on like everyday furniture

“Morning” I nod with a pleasant smile

I’m witholding

Speaking pleasantries instead


A nice word



And I smell moth balls and furniture polish and remember

The very best cutlery is reserved for special occasions

11 thoughts on “The Good China

  1. The weather is about all there is left uncontroversial to talk about–as long as you stick to the exact manifestation and nothing more–they’ve managed to politicize literally everything from sports to going to the bathroom to what we eat–and even the weather. So I’ll take the pleasantries. I really don’t want to know anything else about anyone anymore. And since you can’t see anyone smile anymore, there’s no sense of community or comradery anymore. So when we appreciate a warm spring day (55 and sun here in northern Michigan) and we are able to remark on that together, I’m grateful.

  2. terrific: the poem unwinds into something amazing: the metaphor of that special lounge in yr grandma’s house and the one about the best cutlery —

  3. Fascinating words and thoughts. For many reasons, this may be a favorite of mine. You have a way with words, my friend, that is unlike any other. ♥️❤️

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