My Secret Manuscript

I am shrinking my words,
hiding them on small scraps
in the middle of the night
when our home sails
the territories of sleep.
I hide them in secret drawers
inside my mouth and chest
and whisper them to my son
as he nestles into my breath,
against my breast,
in the hours before dawn.

Ink is hard to come by
in the land of milk and honey,
every line committed to paper
weighs itself down with expectation
and the history of having beaten
all the other words to it..

I am shrinking my words
to meet my son’s mouth
in its infant sounds:
I learn to gurgle and splatter
my spit in a blessing
to another mother,
the one under my feet.

I am writing in the flesh these days,
my footsteps and fingers
weave my words into the fibres
of my living,
my body the manuscript
I’m committing to memory

© 2006 Lucille Greeff