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.