True Silence

despite what you might think,

some things written are not meant to be read.

the space between a ballerina’s tongue and grooves plowed into the roof of her mouth

as she stands, on pointe, in the slipper of

frayed edges and air-dried glue about to snap.

the field, draped in the reflection of now-venerable daytime

somewhere between birth and passing

yet something has unhinged the crickets.

the box coated in silken sheets purposefully pleated around

a languishing figure, weighty eyelashes

and another taste coats her teeth.

whole, rounded darkness once too-full bright of jittering thighs

now, only black and preconceptions

blank as the stares of etiquette- and convention-bound half-personas.

Scream Now.

Do you hear it?

Leila Menezes '22

POETRY