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.
Thistle Thoughts 