Issue 160, Winter 2001
for Owen, deaf twelve months
I knew a girl who also had a ghost
living in her mouth-what we called dumb
and meant the sound of all her clicking rings,
arms sweating into rage. How I teased
and took my refuge in her hating me!
(Once she cut her tonsil with a knife.)
And how I'd try to hide when she would try
to say the thing she knew and never said,
I'd listen to the cavern of my hands
and hear words moving in the wrists.
That's why I've gathered parts of birds to imp
the image of yourself which is my fear:
to provide a shield of flight with wings.
Remember, love is desire to disappear.