can it be?


the voice from the recorder is unfamiliar
childlike and light
it carries about as much importance
maybe less.

it's my voice, never heard by me as it is
til now, til now til now
how now brown cow...

can it be me
oh tell me it can't possibly be.

i pick at my nails and shift uncomfortably
glancing over the room
grateful no one can hear me

trying to read my words, my words
my POEMS
with the passion and the strength
i birthed them in.
how now, silly cow...

i wanted the voice i heard in my head
the sound i imagined
that could move with a life of it's own

sounds that had fingers
to caress a cheek or a tongue to
lick at lips other than mine.