Line up your hushes
the places you should have spoken
the thunder that remains uncracked
but echoes till you’re deaf inside

How far do they stretch
now that you take account
how many bodies in the wake
of vacuums that sought your voice?

Still you offer me silence
rope enough to tie tongues
to the floorboards of made-up peril
all I want is protest, a bellow or a breath

Will you give up your hushes
the places you now are silent
the storms that burn holes in the conscience
the shelter you give audacity?

 

POEM: © Iz Mazano
PHOTO: Kristina Flour on Unsplash

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