I enter your room . . .

Knowing (only)

Who they say

You are from

“outside—the inner circle”

books stacked (deliberately) on

the table. . . telling tales

you know so well . . . your lips

a stained glass prism

speak to me . . . I join

the tender throb of history

in your voice: I walk through it

(I become it)

You grow

The American I did not know myself to be

Right there

In your voice

 

by Ramona L. Hyman, PhD

copyright(c) 2016 by ramona l hyman

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