The Freeze

The Freeze

My grandmother taught me to throw my voice around a corner.
She knew ventriloquy.

I found that too creepy.

Who hears me now in my interior?
Whose voice speaks behind my closed lips,
my clamped tongue?

There is nothing left to say.

I have words for the frozen ones.
In icicles.
In the inevitable thaw.
I send a message in smoke & flames.

I burn raw.

They refuse to see. To hear. I feel it all. Scorch it all down while I’m still here. I’ll forgive the freeze for taking you. I’ll name a snowflake after you.

I’m talking to you, but my lips won’t move.

Published by Jennifer Patino


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