Illustration by S. L. Harper

The words from the dream are
wisps in the air like broken
spider webs wrapping invisibly
about my face and forearms

The fake sunrise tarp draped before me
ripples like a summer mirage
half-soaked into the rural street

and then          as if I were not supposed to
I step through and place my foot
solidly into an evening of dark specters
waiting outside of their existence
to become what I am


I am the cool turpentine
wash of grays seeping over
a dusting of brown sand in the road

I am the night falling upon
neglected pastures of weeds
sputtering up about the silhouettes
of tree stumps and old swing sets

I am the street lamps’ sallow illumine
peering out sensibly from between
foolish tree skeleton embraces

and I am still the child
twisting acorns into the asphalt
with the soles of her shoes

squealing gleefully into the night


“Unvoiced” made its first appearance in Sixfold magazine, winter 2013 edition.

I was inspired to include it on my site today after reading a little metaphysical beauty posted on Robert Okaji’s  O at the Edges , called “Irretrievable.” 

8 thoughts on “Unvoiced

  1. I would say this follows Robert’s piece very nicely. Such a delightful fantasy of living out our dreams. The last stanza makes me smile. Beautiful!


    • Thank you, Elizabeth! One of the most gratifying things for me in writing is stumbling upon the resonances between my own work and that of others, and then working with others to build that “third space” where conversation and community can take place.
      I thank you for your feedback, and I’m glad my poem’s ending made you smile!

      Liked by 1 person

      • Isn’t that wonderful? I honestly never expected to be able to forge bonds as I have over here, through writing. It was my goal, so I suppose I have achieved that! Look forward to reading more of your work, and thanks for coming to check out mine as well. 🙂

        Liked by 1 person

    • Good morning, Ken. I’m just emerging from dreamland now… Haha! It’s funny how inaccessible words are in this state. This explains a lot about our impulse to voice what is “unvoiced” through poetry, I think: we are trying to say the unsayable, and sometimes we get almost dream-close to remembering who, where, and what we once were…

      Liked by 1 person

      • Yes. Finding the words is like gaining insight before the image fades. At least for this mind, which races from topic to topic without locking on – almost a distraction dream state – while seeking some form of association.

        Liked by 1 person

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