Mute

I used to have words. I spoke
long before I was constantly being
strangled by screaming dirty hands.
We flew on the cusp of Cancer and Leo,
he and I, when there was bee stings and
binoculars, fountains and phone calls,
innocence and inner tube, floating,
always, forever FLOATING--or so I was promised.

I could speak then, and sing. But here I am
today. I need to scream, I need to cry,
and my skin has been shredded
in all my silent frustration.

I feel wild sometimes, like I could fight
YOU and all your constant dominance,
YOU and all the races you've won.
But it is my turn to be the predator,
to roar with the lion, to howl with the wolf,
and chase your disgusting words away.

But you and I--we know I don't need words
anymore. You see it all in my face--you
read it best, and you hate it anyway. But my
EYES tell so much more than my feeble,
girlish voice. I am a silent predator,
and you, my love, have transformed
into a noisy prey--an easy catch.

May 2005

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