Let us praise discarded words 
deemed unfit for lofty verse.
Give us nostril for cheek or lip,
drop the knife for the holy fork. 
Air shall be moist rather than damp.
Substitute exits for all departures.
If a sunset must appear, make it orange. 
How scandalous to say orangutan, 
shrubbery, lobster, sausage!
My mouth scrunches on the sounds: 
squeamish, squamous, liquidated!
Instead of coin and currency
insert the truffle smell of money, 
fetid, furry, frequent, feckless.
Dump clematis, forget-me-nots.
Pick up the cankerwort sprung from weeds
in seasons I cannot remember. 
There’s no call for starlings when
titmice are near, nor cumulus heaven, 
cerulean bright. I want that black 
Vesuvian sky, carbuncled with scars
of ancient light.

Marianne Celano is a family psychologist in Atlanta and a co-author of four children’s books. Her poetry has been published or is forthcoming in Last Leaves and in Families, Systems, and Health.

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