Me, the Obturator and the EL.*
I have grown accustom to not speaking. My thumbs tire of tapping. My fingers flimsy at the end of the day. Sloppy spelling betrays my intelligence. I chose simpler words so i don't lose track. Two years. My thoughts and words are only the written word. My life is a story i'm typing out one syllable at a time.
Of course i am going to try then, to speak. I have a role model and his speech is so clear. I knew that it wouldn't just flow out of my mouth on day one. Of course i did.
know is that listening to myself, a litany of fluctuating buzzing, would seem as if i'm standing at the bottom of Mount Everest in a swimsuit.
Out of the hospital, my leg wound was the furthest thing from my mind. I couldn't get up from the a pee without handrails. My daughters pulled me out of a shoe tying. Now, deeply squat and POP UP...i can dig a ditch...i can carry heavy rocks.
Will i ever speak? How many reminders of my vacuous mouth can i endure? Its a hole for liquids to come in. Is it a hole for stories to come out?
My mouth moving wordless, seems more a comfort than the buzzing babbling stream of gibberish.
Is the end game achievable? Nobody knows. Nobody knows.
*hey, i'm fine. but we all have dark moments.