There are several words that make me cringe. I do mean cringe. But there is one, one that I dislike above all others. (Now, I am not including words that are derogatory or extremely offensive. Those are in their own category that is beyond and to the side of this one.) There are also words I love. Adore. Words that make me feel light and happy. Words that bring joy to my heart. And words that are simply fun. This poem uses some of these words. The ones I do not hate. And this poem takes you on a trip around the one word that is my least favorite of them all. The one that could be in the title. Can you guess what it is?
The word that must not be spoken
At the widow’s peak, gravity pulls the
droplet toward the crease between chaotic eyebrows.
Fingers dance by memory, though the mind is engrossed by the
droplet as it travels to the indentation at the left of the nose.
A faithful assistant, the ears seek distraction for the mind,
finding the “click-click-click-click,” side to side with no intermission.
The next inhalation diverts attention to a tickle, as the
droplet dives into the left nostril and dangles with prudence.
Exhale. The mind suspended with hope and dread, awaiting the
next intake of breath. Will it plummet to a gratifying demise?
As though in cahoots with the crescendo, “drip,” the
droplet plunges into a pool atop a sharp ivory landing.