I'll Tell You Later...
bare paper eyed me, naked
and shaking, still
much less uneasy than i,
bringing to me with it’s blank stare
a suffocating desire to drown it, too,
in my despair, stain it with my soot-black
alphabet soup till it was dripping in misery,
bringing to me the faint question,
what have i
but words
to fill this page
these pages?
and so many times i have asked it
but only now,
in the doorframe
of an unwritten library
under black bird over
head
i ask,
what to lend
when those words
want to come to life,
and
are but one, or two, maybe three, rarely four –
whatever amount i manage
before something in my throat
splinters and snaps like a block
of wood my father would strike
to feed to billowing bonfires.
for
all i have,
is but a
quiet
that halts my talking,
demands me not to speak
when i am stuck and stuttering
and where Silence drags it’s feet
shoelaces clicking in leftright rhythm
students speaking dictionaries turn in circles
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poem by Alison Rosalie
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