Finding Her Voice...

She always expected
it would be like unraveling
a green silk ribbon
from strands of brown burlap,
or hearing a
sweet soprano
within jagged cacophonous
techno quagmire...

She thought it would float--
the pumice bobbing up
when granite trickles to the pool's
bleached blue floor.
Who knew it would be

more like fumbling for
an ice cube in a vat of jello,
like tracing constellations
when the sunlight coats
the sky...
So she slouches
deep into the chair,
thinks that maybe the only reason
she likes this music
is that she has

all the lyrics

send me stuff!

poems | fiction | journal | essays
main | her/stories | writings | visuals | media | links

© sarah kowalski
updated october 7, 1999