Echo

I woke up mute this morning, searching for my voice

     which had flown its birdcage of tendon and bone.

I saw you, tried to speak with you

Tapped you gently, insistently, on your shoulder

It was cold.

You turned around, looked at me.

I tried to get through to you, tell you the importance of

You standing there, and me

     waiting for the words to come to tell you

But the only words that came were cereal jingles and

Theme songs from recycled sitcoms.

You turned away, disgusted.

With invisible fingers

I traced the tension of your anger

     taut as the vibrations on a just-slammed door.

You did not see my pleading eyes

My gesticulating arms

You did not hear my hollow love songs.

 

© Jane Park