My dreams are silent. In them I move about and fold my clothes and brush my teeth and carry books, in them I walk around rooms, in them I walk and walk and walk down white square sidewalks past white square windows and I feel whispers sometimes screams, feel the movement of circles and stomps and laughs. But it is silent, I am silent, I sit at white square desks and scratch at white square papers and I walk
past boys whose white faces turn, square,
at me as if their eyes and my silence are enough to pull us together.
(4/11)