Undoings

When your mouth moves I remember

what it felt like as I rushed to flip a page

and sliced my hand on the edge of words.

Every syllable you murmur in my ear stings

salt-lick strong in tiny caustic cuts.

I am four again. I will not breathe

until you untangle me, slowly,

from you, from your own undoings

that have become the paper wrappings

around the bird-cage of my heart.