the silence covers her voice
like a dark veil
a dark veil hidden
in the shadows, in
the unlit caves of
money power and sex
unseen by most, ignored by more
cold and dead she gasps
for air she grasps for words
to cut through to slash into
their control and make it bleed
yet the stench of green paper
pampered with portraits of presidents
burn her nostrils and fill
her lungs with smoke
But she is no stranger
to suffocation from
flames, from fury and
fiery red feelings of anger
she speaks in tongues that were
cut out: her mother, her
mother’s mother, and many
more before them
silenced, their lips sewed shut
by man, their bodies burned
whipped beaten and hung,
murdered. How many more
Women? she is no stranger to flames
the fire within her burns
with rage
keep scratching the match against powdered glass and see how long it takes her
to ignite.