As Judas

When I say -–

what do you picture?

A shovel pushes through dirt.

Unremarkable decomposition.

Cartoon hearts breaking.

Roiling, stomach acids too weak to speak.

I used to think of children no.

One child

bites her tongue

until blood lets

dust in and

all she knows is the dragging

thick of skin

through mud.

But you already know that part,

could read the braille in the pink

of her dental impressions.

Roll your thumb

across the hollows.

Shed your voice as

you mouth the words.