she wipes the dust from her
wood shelf heart, old
books and ornaments that
speak in tears and shatters
an aged journal, broken
leather that smiles in creases
tender sheets that know the
weight of soul and pen
she ruffles its pages--
smelt of earth and sadness--
tracing her fingers over
words of ink. she finds a
pin-pricked paper vein
a painful nothing, disappearing
within the folds of diaries
a lyrical abyss upon a
blank page, she hears
herself within the spaces
within an emptiness
"am i alone
and shall i always be alone?"
she twists her lungs in
knots, clenching hope as if to
suffocate it. she strangles,
stranded in a fugue of
ghostly voices--choke, smother, fight.
spirit-stifled, she waits to
exhale, but breath suspended
cannot sing
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