Your words hum in my bones.
Not the honey sweet hum of jazz
as you watch rain smooth over golden leaves,
not the haunting hum of strangers
grinding their opinions with coffee beans
and serving it with high hopes of persuasion,
but the guilty hum of a little girl who is shutting herself
in a room with a thin plastic lock,
a room with garbage waist high
that let's off thick, charcoal black pollution
that poisons her pink lungs,
as the external hum of her favorite song
slips into the hearts of her loved ones
and seals like a jar filled with warm strawberry jam,
until it's all yanked away...
The hum of a miscarriage in the hearts of her loved ones
as she bursts.
Your words hum in my bones.