Prodigal Word

Image by Okan Akgül

Do they gather somewhere,
the words that hide from my mouth?
Do the ones that won’t come to my tongue
never make it from the brain
because they stick on synapses
like refrigerator-magnet words?
Do they toss into salad poems
someplace in a secret club?

When at death my body drops
out of my Greater Consciousness,
my GC will speak an energy
with no need for words.
But here and now, I love them so!
When a word refuses to emerge,
I ache and crave it, quest to drag it back
by crony query or by synonyms.

Sometimes when it happens,
I wait by a spring, failing to be patient,
for the word to bubble up
from the ground of mysterious grey matter.
But when a lost word surfaces at last,
what utter satisfaction in the just-right meaning
I was reaching for. I revel and exult
in the prodigal word come home.

©Susa Silvermarie 2025