Voice… she

Christina Frasher

 

Put words to a silence

A silence I live and have endured

My refuge

Me

No definitions

No right or wrong

No pleasing

Unseen

Unheard

Forgotten

Silence is my haven

my curse

An invisible blade I twist onto myself

Silence—where the gods live

Where they play

Their unknown origins

They demand visibility

Phenomenology

I cannot play god or I will be put to my cross

If I refuse their will

They will hunt me down

Through strangers first

then lovers

They demand release in a life

I cannot play

I must find my own sounds in the layers of buried lives

Under the bones

The hopes... the lies

Backs that turned on pure vulnerability

Ceaseless digging taking scraping raping

The loving faith over and over again betrayed, sold,

Extinguished for a cheap show,

another Monroe

the gods winning on the lost breathes, strangled cries, blood of unwed brides

Staying through acid rains,

Spring blooming among battle remains

Not simple discards for a quick flash

A living evolution

Our die to be cast

 


Christina Frasher lives and works in Pittsburgh, PA. When she is not busy mothering or teaching, she is wrestling with words; she hopes to win one day.