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 scra