POEM: Untitled 273

I’m a person who suffers
quietly. Though if I were loud,

if my screams rattled the tiles on the roof
and stopped the blood in your veins
                            would you hear me?

Would I be heard if I stampeded
back and forth with a herd
               of steel-shod heifers, clumsy and

would I be noticed or would you look up
from your book only to note the vase
had fallen
           to the floor

and ask


“Darling, did you hear something?”

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