Poetry
it happens sometimes

that what i want is to leak

to leak like a broken faucet
or like a toilet trained toddler

to leak
like a busted pipe
or a fire hydrant in mourning

to leak
to leak
poetry and words and letters that add up to words
to leak it all out
until i am covered in letters
that dance from my nipples to my chin and spin from arm-pit to knee

until i am drowning
ecstatically throwing letters around me
like confetti
like cupcakes

there is a poem that i remember
but this one has no memory
it only has an urge and a surge
and it leaks

no, it doesn't just leak
it explodes outwards

i used to be able to dance my poetry with my body
the boys loved to watch

i loved the warm sensation of their eyes on me
they were respectful and curious
and i was a woman sharing my life

nowadays its the words

i still miss the boys
i do miss the boys

but at least i have the words
i am teaching them to dance for me

but they are still leaking
not quite dancing

tonight