Literature
Silent Birth
I cannot know there’s a silk tree that never grows in front of great Aunt Roxie’s house paper thin, faux memory as still as mother’s Galveston Beach painting, white sails alight over dead quiet Gulf don’t remember a human voice planet’s as dumb as wax figurines I’m left to conjure an underbelly countries of libertines, red faced suspicions, quixotically brewed in cold iron maidens and if not real, then so be? I need not fear the cataclysmic grapefruit hail, children’s fevers might never love my lover’s womb or set my shameful sex on fire or listen for whippoorwills I will not hear
