Zinger

Her words slip sweetly, serenely from her lips,
slicing me deeply as they glide by.

All becomes still as I let them sink in,
razor-sharp, wounding.

Pain searing; guilt and shame crowding as usual.

Shock pulses through my body yet I’m not surprised
by the familiar hurt.

Rage spurts forth, crimson in color.
It takes everything in me to sheath my tongue,
a steely weapon.

Words. Words carelessly (or not so carelessly)
slung inflict pain, tumble out easily.
Retracting them impossible.

Carefully, I lift out the dagger.
Gently, Truth binds my wound.
Healing flows as I let go.

Megan Burmester
June 30, 2018