Of Diamonds and Toads (Revision)

[Todd]

Revision

I swallowed the secret
that swims in my stomach
like a school of darting tadpoles.
These words we speak when we must

not speak.

So, we make up stories
about a child who sang diamonds
and another who croaked toads.
We nod our heads, impatient for the moral,
as when we wait for dessert after dinner—
sweet to cover the bitter, sweet
to make us forget.
These words lodge in my throat
till I am choked. This is the secret
I cannot tell:
there are not two children but one.

You are long dead
and my tongue still roils
beneath this sediment.

Original

I swallowed the secret
that swims in my stomach
like a school of darting tadpoles.
These words we speak when we must

not speak.

So, we make up stories. Once

there was a child who sang diamonds
and another who croaked toads.
We nod our heads, impatient for the moral,
as when we wait for dessert after dinner—
sweet to cover the bitter, sweet
to make us forget.

Truth burns inside with a blue flame
like sulfur on my fingertips.
This is the secret I cannot tell:
there are not two children but one.

You are long dead
and my tongue still roils
beneath this sediment.