by Mary E. Lowd
When the sharp cuts stack up
Like wounds on top of scar tissue
You become
Held down by the weight of context
Each sentence requiring
An encyclopedic knowledge
Of gathered references
A preponderance of pondering
And histories hidden
In half-forgotten happenings
Stored up over a lifetime
Turning you into
An impossible, inscrutable cipher
A few words
Harkening back to a moment
No one else remembers
In a television show
No one else saw
Or a book you can’t find
Because you have the title wrong
So how do you communicate?
When all the words
Are too little and
Too much?