Poem 56

i am spoken of in hushed lullaby,

a cautionary sunday psalm.


i made a move but it cost

lost, the stream too full to cross.

i am blue inside like a blueberry pie.


i felt heavy in my faith, a boxer ducking too late,

an appetite too big to be sated,

the last nagging nerve grated,

a broken phonograph erased and a tire deflated.


i spoke and no one echoed, 

lassoed an empty chair and waited 

like a dull knife in a drawer to be sharpened

i became alone and a stranger in my skin.

a kin to those who can never hear again.


i am empty sky, blue, blueberry pie.


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