Tonight's Poet Corner: We Need To Talk

We Need To Talk
by Belinda Roddie

Reprimanding, yet fair: her platinum
blonde hair and her searing stare,
the kind that gets under your skin,

irises flaring, the light separating
into thin rays, just enough to slip
under the fingernails and linger

like splinters in your cuticles. Still,
she's supposed to discipline you. Her
voice is low, close to scolding, though not

quite condescending yet. The tone is
mellow, warm enough to settle in your
lungs, condensing into vapor, making

the air you breathe hot enough to create
whole colonies of bacteria just from
the hums behind her tongue. You can only

leave when she excuses you, and for now,
she's not done quietly abusing you, hands
taunting your face without touching it - no

pinching of the nose or pats on the cheek.
You are left alone, disoriented, a confused
child who was just taught a lesson. A lesson

you don't remember in your native language,
given by a woman who offers you bandages
after scratching you. In love and war, that's fair.