The game that we call conversation
may move as fast as any kind of ball —
the words may volley back and forth as swiftly
but then the message hangs before it falls

Revealing layers that we may have missed
that make us double back and reconsider
that what we said may not be what we meant
and what we meant may not have been delivered

And where we stand can slide away
and leave us lodged, hapless and ungainly,
between assumption and intention
with something that we’ve said now seen
(too late) as better not to mention

In the end, compassion’s patient comb
must disentangle all the snarls of words
until in understanding we come home,
release the sting of unintended hurt.

©Wendy Mulhern
April 6, 2015