They Own Me
My life is scattered words which rise up at moments
in a show of strength to overtake me and pronounce themselves,
the masters of my mind and heart.
The swell is ferocious, syllabic streams rush down my face
as I strain to contain the rushing.
I don’t own the words; I have never owned the words.
They own me.
When the showing is at last over, the words retreat,
consonants and vowels take their places,
peacefully allowing me to focus on my day-to-day life.
But then my eye will catch sight of a butternut squash,
a kitten, or David Eugene, causing the words to rise up again.