Speak, Dumb Hour
Shamala Gallagher
these days our fear
t
inarticulate
light
t.tt
what is that asked the child
ttttttttt. tt
it is our fear
t
day breaks open
like a terrible
fruit
tttt.
and breath can get lost
in the rattling
house
t
the year is a clear glass of our own
doubt
year is a mess of seeds
t
i am sick of the blank lips of hours
~~~~~
Shamala Gallagher lives in the soaking green heat of Austin near the black creak of crickets at night.