(Written October 2021)
Upon a hill, high and covered
Trees swayed and squeaked
Like a child in the house
On the side of a steepened peak
And the voices gathered
Behind walls so thin
To grace ears of a heart shattered
And remind of places been
The voice of one: soft, quiet
Gently scolding, so was thought.
And the voice of another: harsher, frightening,
A sound that made the child shake in their spot.
And the keening cry of pain, sorrow deep
Tumbled out once the soft voice came in
And words on a page, spelled out the phrase
“I know what was said where you’ve been.”
But the gentler voice did not create excuses
No lost words that meant nothing to the soul
Or the little broken child that so was perched on their bed
Saw the gentle voice’s remorse, lack of cold