It took a while to remember,
in fact it wasn’t until today that it came back
with a flash like heat lightening in an August sky,
that day when I was twelve, and other girls were
women already, smug in their menses and messes,
and I was slow, and they called me slow,
still a girl with baby teeth and the fabric
of my blouse smooth and undisturbed,
but i had a fountain pen with peacock blue ink
in slender cartridges that were slipped into the barrel
and screwed down tight, and on this remembered day,
after i loaded my mouth as well as my pen,
sliding one cartridge between my teeth to chew,
preferring the cool, pliant plastic
to the splintered shaft of pencils,
the cartridge burst, and peacock blue ran
from the corners of my mouth and dribbled down my chin
in a shocking flow, and though tongue-dyed,
fully-fledged words spilled out, and i spoke ink.
© dana hughes 4.24.14