I’ve never heard her speak.
Now I’m in love with her voice
angelic, soft, soothing
You probably imagine her saccharin,
all sweetness and light
– so far.
(I bet you can feel the ‘but’ coming)
She utters a bitter sound of the night
across a breakfast table
turning in a bed
walking a street
brushing her teeth
even sitting to do her business.
Her voice creeps behind the words
subverts the common meaning of social intercourse.
Her stories are not my stories
If you stumbled across her vignettes
you might also mutter ‘they’re gold dust,
they conceive, germinate, grow stronger
in the soil of daily life’.
And they bear seed
– whenever I get close enough.