Like the seed I swallowed when I was small,
from my depths a tree now grows. As first
I didn't feel it all, and then it felt like
n o t h i n g at all, and now as its branches
tickle up my throat I wonder if I'll die
before they're reaching out like arms
from my (normally) empty mouth, poking
wooden fingers through my broken teeth, or
if instead it will finally give me something to say.

...and what could I say?