Sometimes it feels like my pronunciation
is parked on the berm of your understanding,
like the way you look at me as if I broke the law
when I say the river’s name, but it’s not 
“KAN-uh-WAW” but “kuh-NAW”, the waters
of dialect smoothing out the word. This is
what you do in economies of scarcity:
we sometimes swallow syllables
like the last morsel of ramps,
or hide them in the damp bowels
of mountains; you can almost
feel the pressure changing 
vowels into diamonds,
precious treasures to be hoarded.