It was something we did together, everybody
adding a word or two and suddenly we had
a sentence, a paragraph
a story about what to tell each other.
For years the village had been a mean place.
Afterwards there was a celebration.
My aunt baked a honeycake,
my uncle got drunk as a beehive
sweetness infused our tiny mayor's tongue
Nobody told us our lines until the very last moment,
and nobody told us we could play like that,
all night until the sun came up to listen,
until who knew music existed like that.