If Lavinia had been able to,
 she would’ve cupped her severed tongue 
 between her palms, its warmth
 trickling in the creases of her lifeline
 until it began to move.
  
 If given the chance,
 Lavinia could have carried her tongue
 in her pocket, felt its outline in the silk
 as a reminder, the pulse
 quickening in her fingers, so they would have written the words,
 then danced them.
 Disability is not a new invention,
 nor are the mutilated girls 
 who must carry on with ordinary lives.
  
 But they cut her hands off,
 of course.
 Sent her tongue crying off into the woods
 where it fell in the dirt
 and lay, unseen and unheard 
 by any audience.
  
 Somebody else spoke Ophelia’s death into our minds,
 just as Lavinia’s mutilators cackled about her tragedy
 while she bled offscreen.
 But Lavinia’s tongue will return to tell its own tale, 
 someday, will dance again
 tapping against teeth until released
 onto a new stage.

Kate Shakespeare graduated from Vassar College in 2016 with a degree in Psychology and currently works as a technical writer in Seattle. She has been previously published in Pidgeonholes and Asymmetry Fiction.