My Tongue is a Dam

[sun_sparks]

I did some more editing on this: 

My Tongue is a Dam
 
Heavily, it presses from shoulder to shoulder,
pulling me toward the floor.
Exhausted scapulae choke
my throat,
shut to both breath and nourishment.
My words slammed
back from lifted tongue—
a dam against the flood.
 
                  I lied — it hurts
                  failed…                                  
                             deserved.
 
—In the room,
her head shifts, hearing
my silence.
I pay her to listen. I fear
that she hears.
Her notebook poised, black-rimmed glasses pushed into tousled hair.
Two water glasses beside us—
mine half-filled, hers always empty.
I know she’s seen it.
 
I release a truth to loosen my tongue—
a measured spillway
for my shame
that acid burns.
 
I swallow.
 
My shoulders sag but weight still drags,
knotted tendons the net
holding the dam wall intact.

-------

Revision here: 

My Tongue is a Dam
 
It presses heavy from shoulder to shoulder,
pulling me toward the floor.
Exhausted scapulae rise,
enveloping my neck in choking embrace.
The junction where breath meets nourishment
constricts, 
pushing my words
back from arid tongue—
lifted, taut,
a dam against the flood.
 
                  I lied                        it hurts
                                    failed…                                  
                                                          deserved.
 
Her head lifts. She heard
the silence.
I pay her to listen. I fear
that she hears.
Her notebook poised, black-rimmed glasses pulled into tousled hair,
she observes me across our two water glasses—
mine half-filled, hers always empty.
I know she’s seen it.
 
I release a truth that loosens my tongue—
a measured spillway
for my shame
that acid-burns toward my core.
 
I swallow.
 
My shoulders sag but drag remains,
knotting my truth into the tendons
that hold me stable.
 
-----------------------------------------------------
 
Original

My Tongue is a Dam
 
It presses heavy from shoulder to shoulder,
pulling toward the floor.
My exhausted scapulae rise,
enveloping my neck in threatening embrace.
That unseen spot where breath meets nourishment
constricts, 
pushing my words back 
from parched tongue—
clinging to the roof of my mouth,
a dam against the flood of truth.
 
She must have seen it. Heard
the silence.
I pay her to listen.
Her notebook poised, black-rimmed glasses pulled into her disheveled hair,
she watches me across our two water glasses—
mine half-filled, hers always empty.
I know she’s seen it.
 
Memory hunts for another truth—
too many truths—
I find one that loosens the tongue and lets breath escape.
That I can say aloud without inviting tears to fall.
My stomach churns at the choice,
releasing an acid tingle into my throat.
 
I swallow.
 
My shoulders sag but drag remains,
knotting truth into the tendons
that hold me upright.

[Todd]

Welcome to the site. I don't usually do line by line critiques in mild, but sometimes I do them to follow the logic of the poem. That's what I'm doing here.

So, here goes... my first post. 


My Tongue is a Dam--wonderful title. The tongue which is meant to speak holds back words like a dam that holds back water. What's so good about that is Dam implies a few things. One a building up of pressure against a wall. Also, the subverting of the natural flow. That which is meant to speak restrains and holds the consequences of that restraint within the body. Nice work with the title.
 
It presses heavy from shoulder to shoulder,--This is where the exposition of the title helps you it adds context to the opening. It the desire to say what the speaker wants to say but for seem reason can't or won't say creates physical tension in the body.
pulling toward the floor.--This feels like an image of guilt or shame or regret this pulling to the floor, this weight.
My exhausted scapulae rise,
enveloping my neck in threatening embrace.--Nice visceral imagery
That unseen spot where breath meets nourishment
constricts, 
pushing my words back 
from parched tongue— --All these physical constraints building on one another.
clinging to the roof of my mouth,--while I like this more than simply naming the tongue parched. This phrasing is still slightly cliche and you can probably find a fresher alternative.
a dam against the flood of truth.--The flood gives a weight to how much is pressing to be said. Flood of truth is a bit abstract I realize the point is that the speaker can't say. This though would a good opportunity to anchor the abstraction with maybe half-formed fragments that can't be spoken fully, remain unspoken to the therapist but flit through the mind and give the reader hints or flashes without fully revealing anything (just a thought to consider).
 
She must have seen it. Heard --Again I think She must have seen it is a little too telling. Have her pick up an actual tell on the speaker's body or connect what you've already shown into an action (i.e., she's writing something again. What did she see, or hear from the silence) not trying to write it for you at all just given my train of thought.
the silence.
I pay her to listen.--Might want put some emotion into this line that you pay her to listen and are now bothered that she is.
Her notebook poised, black-rimmed glasses pulled into her disheveled hair,--I like the character work you did on the therapist. There's a contrast element professionalism mixed with disheveled hair. It in some ways makes her possibly untrustworthy. Though I'm reaching a bit because that is an interesting add and I'm trying to place it.
she watches me across our two water glasses
mine half-filled, hers always empty.--This feels like a subtle glass half full reference though completely subverting the cliche by making it literal. Also, since things can more than one thing. The half full glass also implies to me that there's a half of a conversation that the speaker is expected to carry and the other person gives nothing back (empty glass) as a therapist that's understandable but it still points to the nature of the relationship.
I know she’s seen it.--This is a strong line that pops. There's conflict packed in it.
 
Memory hunts for another truth—
too many truths— --These two lines feel a bit too abstract and lower the tension of the I know she's seen it. I'm not sure you need them.
I find one that loosens the tongue and lets breath escape.
That I can say aloud without inviting tears to fall.--I think you can let the speaker hinge a little bit more toward losing control tears to fall seems too easy.
My stomach churns at the choice,--Again feels too safe
releasing an acid tingle into my throat.
 
I swallow.
 
My shoulders sag but drag remains,
knotting truth into the tendons
that hold me upright.

I hope that wasn't too much for mild. I like what you did here. It's got strong bones. I'm interested to see where you go with this.

Best,

Todd

[sun_sparks]

Welcome to the site. I don't usually do line by line critiques in mild, but sometimes I do them to follow the logic of the poem. That's what I'm doing here.

So, here goes... my first post. 


My Tongue is a Dam--wonderful title. The tongue which is meant to speak holds back words like a dam that holds back water. What's so good about that is Dam implies a few things. One a building up of pressure against a wall. Also, the subverting of the natural flow. That which is meant to speak restrains and holds the consequences of that restraint within the body. Nice work with the title.
 
It presses heavy from shoulder to shoulder,--This is where the exposition of the title helps you it adds context to the opening. It the desire to say what the speaker wants to say but for seem reason can't or won't say creates physical tension in the body.
pulling toward the floor.--This feels like an image of guilt or shame or regret this pulling to the floor, this weight.
My exhausted scapulae rise,
enveloping my neck in threatening embrace.--Nice visceral imagery
That unseen spot where breath meets nourishment
constricts, 
pushing my words back 
from parched tongue— --All these physical constraints building on one another.
clinging to the roof of my mouth,--while I like this more than simply naming the tongue parched. This phrasing is still slightly cliche and you can probably find a fresher alternative.
a dam against the flood of truth.--The flood gives a weight to how much is pressing to be said. Flood of truth is a bit abstract I realize the point is that the speaker can't say. This though would a good opportunity to anchor the abstraction with maybe half-formed fragments that can't be spoken fully, remain unspoken to the therapist but flit through the mind and give the reader hints or flashes without fully revealing anything (just a thought to consider).
 
She must have seen it. Heard --Again I think She must have seen it is a little too telling. Have her pick up an actual tell on the speaker's body or connect what you've already shown into an action (i.e., she's writing something again. What did she see, or hear from the silence) not trying to write it for you at all just given my train of thought.
the silence.
I pay her to listen.--Might want put some emotion into this line that you pay her to listen and are now bothered that she is.
Her notebook poised, black-rimmed glasses pulled into her disheveled hair,--I like the character work you did on the therapist. There's a contrast element professionalism mixed with disheveled hair. It in some ways makes her possibly untrustworthy. Though I'm reaching a bit because that is an interesting add and I'm trying to place it.
she watches me across our two water glasses
mine half-filled, hers always empty.--This feels like a subtle glass half full reference though completely subverting the cliche by making it literal. Also, since things can more than one thing. The half full glass also implies to me that there's a half of a conversation that the speaker is expected to carry and the other person gives nothing back (empty glass) as a therapist that's understandable but it still points to the nature of the relationship.
I know she’s seen it.--This is a strong line that pops. There's conflict packed in it.
 
Memory hunts for another truth—
too many truths— --These two lines feel a bit too abstract and lower the tension of the I know she's seen it. I'm not sure you need them.
I find one that loosens the tongue and lets breath escape.
That I can say aloud without inviting tears to fall.--I think you can let the speaker hinge a little bit more toward losing control tears to fall seems too easy.
My stomach churns at the choice,--Again feels too safe
releasing an acid tingle into my throat.
 
I swallow.
 
My shoulders sag but drag remains,
knotting truth into the tendons
that hold me upright.

I hope that wasn't too much for mild. I like what you did here. It's got strong bones. I'm interested to see where you go with this.

Best,

Todd

Thanks Todd. I really appreciate the time you took on this and deeply grateful for the feedback. Glad some things landed as I’d hoped and some elements still to work on. I find myself meandering into prose and abstract often in my writing, and find them hard to spot when I do (any tips?!)…

[Todd]

Thanks Todd. I really appreciate the time you took on this and deeply grateful for the feedback. Glad some things landed as I’d hoped and some elements still to work on. I find myself meandering into prose and abstract often in my writing, and find them hard to spot when I do (any tips?!)…

Hi, that happens to me too especially in early drafts. I'm not sure what your process is but for me I'm sort of scaffolding the piece and when I do that, I do use either a sort of shorthand (which presents as abstractions) or I lean a bit into prose because I'm flatly describing for myself what I'm trying to convey.

I don't worry about if it's there initially. I just edit it out. This is purely subjective to the person, but I read it aloud and say to myself that's vague, or that reads flat, meh, or who cares. Then I think if there's an image that does what I'm asking the flat line to do. Then I look at the image and say is that in the same tone, register and temperature that I'm going with?

I have less in the way of tips and more just compulsive editing. In fact, when you're looking at critiques, I would suggest not to just focus on the advice people give you. Focus on what they didn't comment on. What not commenting usually means is that it's a serviceable part of the writing but not much better.

I was working with a great poet in a workshop one on one, and she pointed out flaws in my poem and I'd fix them. She'd point out the great lines, but then I noticed that there were parts she didn't comment on at all. Think acceptable filler. So, I focused on making those better. Kind of a make every line your best line (now I realize that isn't entirely possible because some lines are for setup). Still, it's a good habit to get into.

It's all in the editing.

Hope some of that ramble helped.

Best,

Todd

[sun_sparks]

Thanks Todd. I really appreciate the time you took on this and deeply grateful for the feedback. Glad some things landed as I’d hoped and some elements still to work on. I find myself meandering into prose and abstract often in my writing, and find them hard to spot when I do (any tips?!)…

Hi, that happens to me too especially in early drafts. I'm not sure what your process is but for me I'm sort of scaffolding the piece and when I do that, I do use either a sort of shorthand (which presents as abstractions) or I lean a bit into prose because I'm flatly describing for myself what I'm trying to convey.

I don't worry about if it's there initially. I just edit it out. This is purely subjective to the person, but I read it aloud and say to myself that's vague, or that reads flat, meh, or who cares. Then I think if there's an image that does what I'm asking the flat line to do. Then I look at the image and say is that in the same tone, register and temperature that I'm going with?

I have less in the way of tips and more just compulsive editing. In fact, when you're looking at critiques, I would suggest not to just focus on the advice people give you. Focus on what they didn't comment on. What not commenting usually means is that it's a serviceable part of the writing but not much better.

I was working with a great poet in a workshop one on one, and she pointed out flaws in my poem and I'd fix them. She'd point out the great lines, but then I noticed that there were parts she didn't comment on at all. Think acceptable filler. So, I focused on making those better. Kind of a make every line your best line (now I realize that isn't entirely possible because some lines are for setup). Still, it's a good habit to get into.

It's all in the editing.

Hope some of that ramble helped.

Best,

Todd

Awesome advice - thanks Todd. Practice makes improvement, right?