Do not lift the needle
String me from beams too high to touch
on tip toe through father’s house
I begin dancing
Twirling and spinning
Slow down…
this is a peaceful dance
Limbs sway
An extension of escape
and I lose myself
Lost in time
I forget my own space
This is not my tempo
He plucks frantic strings
too frenzied to feel
I set the metronome to truth
but he couldn’t keep the time
Do you remember that time?
Mother’s hand wrapped round my face
Sweet dreams are made of these
and the record spun
a paradoxical melody
hummed from lips of children
too sore to speak
Hypothetically speaking
in literal context
Remember the red hand
burned on the face
These are truths moments
and I become a lie
poised on the tip of your tongue
Shhhhh
Speak softly she said
and I sang truth
for I’ve never heard a mother’s lullaby
There were songs of revolution
hidden inside my first breath
and I am still breathing
Inhaling silent secrets
of old lovers and friends
I often wonder if they hear me sigh
Their stale air lingers on my lips
and I forget myself
as I am forgotten