I think today
of whispering women,
fevers, a dry bowl.

Such adventures
muted, never shared,
swallowed.

I think of danger,
of staging a scene.
I would be an anomaly,

a speeding carousel.
I think today
of ruining a reputation,

eyeing the cutlery,
begging strangers
to save me

in several languages,
to be held captive again
until the next time I begin

to think, find my heart
stirring, the uncommon
panic of birds.

09/11/2005

Posted on 09/11/2005
Copyright © 2024 Lisa Marie Brodsky