by Alison Stone
The boat of truth turned back at the gate of my throat…
A girl unheard learns not to chatter, told
“be still,” she hardens from a laughing child
to a statue, her fixed smile sharp as hate.
Human beauty doesn’t tempt you, Father, not
my somersault, not my castle of gold-
flecked sand. Trapped in your opulent cold
garden, spoiled flowers shine. I suffocate.
We share a hunger, Father, you who grab at
everything, I whose favorite word is no. Mourn
your folly's price, repent and save us both.
Spend your final wish to touch the free bright
breathing world. Then I will be safe in my skin
and the silence will melt from my mouth.
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