Most trembling in front of time, I dance.
I can’t be so obvious again.
Sorrow wants to be a friend,
but I’m still introducing myself.
I’m afraid of the nothingness
that will fill my hands
once I let go of grief.
I talk so much,
yet I don’t say what I want to say.
I’ve sharpened the edges of my tongue into a spear.
I fear my words will stab me.
Once, I etched a door on my skin
when I forgot the word “escape.”
I know “flee” is an autograph
I won’t be needing again.
My heart beats its way out of my chest,
my loins coiled into a smile.
In one way or another,
we are all trying hard to fly away
or sing a song from the silence that made us.
WILDsound Writing Festival 