thank you for reading, for writing. for getting up there and opening your big, fat, red mouth. for showing me your saliva, your nose hairs, the back of your throat. for curling your hand around the pen ’til it cramps and spasms. for five thousand hours of typing — all in one day.
thank you for beating language to a pulp, on a piece of pulp. for giving it dainties and tea. for rubbing it with Tiger Balm. for baking it into a cake, along with three cups flour, egg, sugar, and a statuette of the Baby Jesus. thank you for braiding its hair on damp, late mornings; for stroking its cheek. thank you for sucking on language like a lost finger on an unknown hand.
with love from your faithful correspondent,
miss tiffany lee brown
