So what if I say a name? So what
if it is quiet as a splinter and under
my breath? What else should I speak
when hard wood is my tongue?
I have walked long
as a pilgrim can, lay on pillows of rock,
scratched on bark. I will unpickle the jar,
lift the boxes of books, empty
the trash. Jesus, I swear,
I will be a good boy. I will watch
the lights and not be late, will wash
my hands before I eat, press them
like sheets, will count my vows
like beans, I will call. I will call
when I am close. So what, till then
if I say her name before sleep?
Ryan Van Winkle is a poet, live artist, podcaster and critic living in Edinburgh. His poems have appeared in New Writing Scotland, The Prairie Schooner and The American Poetry Review. His debut collection was published by Salt in 2010. His second collection, The Good Dark, was published in 2015 by Penned in the Margins.