Wordless

High notes rise– 

staccato.

There’s a hum 

in the head.

Fingers tap 

touching 

each chance 

each day.

Evenings don’t end 

in song 

or story.

Silent shoulders 

mourn. 

Blank pages 

flap

flying as kites.


Previous
Previous

Open the name drawer

Next
Next

All the men who left