Clench

How easy the lapse,
the slip that spills
through her lips,
now all too human.

Wrong words hang
in the listening air,
stain the morning
before swarming
like a cloud of wasps.

No honey for Pandora.
No way to swallow
the wayward barbs
or winged mistakes,
the stings she did not mean.

Better to seal her mouth
against those ghosts
and their repertoire of regret.
Better to let the brunt and brash
knock against her teeth.

She will eat her words alone
with a dash of salt
and open nothing.