cochlear nerve, you old root by victoria mallorga hernandez

                         Tripp CC



cochlear nerve, you old root

stranger,
forgive me the pause,
how it crawls under me
to reach the center of something broken
the moment your speech breaks time space
a rollercoaster haunting my chest
dragging out unwanted bitterness

stranger,
you cover your lips once again
mumbling rapid whisper that tenses
this old root, these nerves
struggling to create connection, 
flimsy threads that cannot catch 
this speech of yours that runs 
        
breaks into 
a riot of flowers 
forget-me-nots falling off as potpourri
as you wish it wasn't this hard 
to reach me,
                            annoyed by the third uh 
                            and my transparent confusion

but this nerve clings and drags its hands
against the doors ashamed 
he would beg if pride let him
until flowers stopped interrupting, 
all petals out of your windpipe, 
suddenly your speech slowing down to understanding

this old nerve,
this need, this claim to silence
breaking your voice apart
wrapping itself inside my ears,
until it crowns my temple,
rips it apart.

​

victoria mallorga hernandez is a peruvian taurus, trickster, and poet. currently, she's an associate editor at palette poetry and editorial assistant at redivider mag. her first poetry collection, albion, came out with alastor editores in 2019. her work has been featured in revista lucerna, molok and el hablador. you can find her as @cielosraros in twitter and instagram. 

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