Speak, Dumb Hour
Shamala Gallagher

 

 

these days our fear

 

                                             t

 

the window crossed by pale

inarticulate

light

                                             t.tt

 

what is that asked the child

 

                                             ttttttttt. tt

 

it is our fear

 

                                             t

 

 

 

day breaks open

 

like a terrible

fruit

 

                                             tttt.

and breath can get lost

 

in the rattling

house

 

 

                                             t

 

the year is a clear glass of our own

doubt

 

year is a mess of seeds

 

 

 

 

                                             t

                                             ttttt.t.t.

 

i am sick of the blank lips of hours

 

 

~~~~~

Shamala Gallagher lives in the soaking green heat of Austin near the black creak of crickets at night.