Songs of Our Swampland

I have a hole for a mouth.
When people stare at me I often see a look of disgust, if not horror, in their eyes. Sometimes they display pity. Obviously it is not something that one can easily ignore, but I have learnt not to think much about it. I was born that way: with my lips, front half of my jaws and tongue missing. The rest of my body is well formed.
Naturally, I don’t have the gift of speech but I more than make up for it by telling myself stories. Come to think of it, I have been very lucky in my life. I rarely forget anything. If people really knew me they would say: look, there goes the elephant’s memory. When I see a thing, even for the briefest moment, its details never escape me.
Years later, I can see every speck of its colours as vividly as when I first laid my eyes on it. I have a similar way with sounds and smells. And once they are all caught in the web of my mind they provide me with the threads with which I can spin the stories. Who wouldn’t feel lucky with such spidery gifts?