Slow Speech

Some days words
     are slippery
              tentative.
I am
  Quite
    Uncertain
of my ability
    to use them safely

I stumble, toddleresque
   brand-new
      sea legs
         Stumbling
             and
              laughing

Shrieking delight
    mingled
       with terror
the possibility of falling
     the slightest
           mis-step
                 away.

I wish for words
     like window shades
         So Smoothly
             Retracted
           with one slight tug.

But words are glass. They
   Shatter
       on
         Impact

Shards fly
   drawing blood
       Dagger slivers
           linger
              waiting
           for tenderfeet
          to trod gently upon them
 
 Piercing
   Long after the bomb
     first detonated.

No, words are not
   my playthings
      this day.
I handle them softly
    explosive potential
         so mortally close.

I weigh each one
   carefully
    Behind my polished smile.