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By Elizabeth Estabrooks
Reality
Reality.
Senses make it real.
If the cabbage smells
the silk is soft
the taste is sharp
the light is white.
Reality.
Sound makes it so.
If a tree falls
a man speaks
a woman whispers
a child cries.
Reality.
The intangible makes it live.
If hate is felt
sorrow exists
happiness swells
love surrounds.
Reality.
Without the sight
the taste
the sigh
the touch
the words
the name
Can we make it not be real?
Change the truth
Hide the feelings
Pretend there is not there
Turn its very course?
Liz Estabrooks
10/27/00
She Hides
She hides
Frightened - frozen
A child, no more.
His breathing fills the house
The only sound.
His presence felt
When? Why?
His footsteps nearer
Fear.
Mom, Mom
Where is my Mom?
Hiding, blind.
Help. None.
Don't see…
Mustn't tell.
It will go away.
It will go away.
Didn't - doesn't - won't.
50 years
Still here.
Frightened, angry, bitter
A child, still.
Damn him to Hell
Damn her.
Mom, Mom.
Why? Where?
Doesn't matter now.
Gone. Dead.
Don't talk.
It's too late now.
It's too late now
Elizabeth Estabrooks
February, 1995 - Fishtrap
Read Elizabeth's article, "A Woman's Voice"
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