You told me and then I told you

I wasn’t listening

No room for your words

My words had me full

I suspect it might have been something like that for you

We were spitting words out like watermelon seeds off the dock

That sank into that weedy marsh we called the lake

Then fists were all we had left

Or did I dream there were words?

Maybe we started with fists

Mute to express the complicated helix of rage

Passed down from countless generations

Now you are gone and I can’t ask

What you said and what you heard

I can only finger this scar on my chin

Your one of many gifts to me