Succulence, or Golden on the Tongue

I haven’t been writing much recently, really, and it has felt like a waiting space or like being poised, listening deeply, rather than preparing to speak. And today I had something simple and maybe slightly unfinished arise and I wanted to share it. It is called, for now anyway, Golden on the Tongue, and thus has a name almost as long as it is:

Wounds ripen as fruit does
Juicy and ready
Moments come when we may find ourselves flooded
With pain or terror or simple sorrow, simply life
When lamenting and laughing, choking and speaking
Are the exact same thing
And we are, finally, finally nourished
In the experience of being

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