Bitter herbs harvested from bitter earth
By careful, slender-fingered hands
I am Ophelia
And you are the willow
Grown aslant the brook
Where no one saw if I fell
Or if I jumped in
Learning how to speak in damage
But the language of damage is never the same
Getting used to crying without making any sound
And never feeling better or sated
The fault lines in our bones
The tremors that shake our arteries
Such venomous refrains
These silences threaten to consume me
This emptiness threatens to consume me
The sirens in your blood sing to me
Louder than the voices in my own