Tag: E. Ethelbert Miller

you lie in bed listening,
waiting, fearing the moment
your father returns home. you
listen to voices talking in the
next room and wonder why you are
still afraid of the dark. his voice
in the other room you would love to
kiss. you cannot see your face in the
dark but the blackness is there, like
his back. if only he would
open the door and look at you. maybe
the light would be in his eyes,
his voice.

If I was tree green instead of black
they would come and cut my branches,
destroy my roots, transport my
life and turn me into paper pulp.
Everything would be lost to history
like disappearing forests and burning woods.
Yes, they would cut me down with a sharp
axe and say I fell on my own and would
you my dear, hear my sound?