(age 12)
I am silent in the sky as the wind sings a symphony in my ears.
I am a listener to the vibrant green trees that press against the sky.
I am keeper of the grand waltz of the oceans.
I have heard the hushed murmurs of whispering children as they trade me secrets.
I have offered an ear to the sun with her fiery roars.
I am the key of utterances promised to be quiet.
I can tell you the secrets of the world, but I am locked in an inky promise.
[performed at nature poetry event, Litquake]
I do not know when my family came to Ukraine for how many centuries they stayed for how much DNA lies buried in cemeteries with half-closed gates names half-heartedly scrubbed away by time but I do kn
four years ago, I watched seas of red wash over the capitol building, fire and brimstone and cries of American carnage perched in the rumbled of red and white and a crowd of much-contested number fou
delicate guardrails dot the distance of 24 to 168 inches between us if we were close like swinging childrens’ hands only 18 to 24 inches foot in plural between the vibration of your larynx and the twi