the voices in their hands

19745529-black-female-handThese two unknown to me

Crossed a sea with their hands

Sliced through

a void with words formed by talkative fingertips

with palms

given the power of tongues

they spoke – this mother, this daughter – speaking to her child – singing to her mother

in front of me and I wondered

If the daughter

Young as she was

would ever long for the sound of her mother’s voice

the rise and fall of language spoken aloud

given life

by infinite variances of voice

words arising from the basin of belly, moving across the muscles of the throat and collapsing on the tongue –

Words knitted with tongue and teeth

baptized with the heart and breath

springing from the soil of memory

recycled

rebirthed

reshaped by time,

would she,

literally hunger for noises to crowd her ears

and fill the spaces in her mouth

perhaps

longing was my own –

I offered my greetings through transference

breathing desire through the veil of memory

The mother I watched

trying not to stare

or become a vampire intrusively taking the life from their lives

creating my own versions of their realities

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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