When First We Found Our Voices
When first we found our voices
they were cartoonish mouse squeaks
earning us raised eyebrows and smirks.
We were not a force to be reckoned with, not yet.
First the squeak must give way to hoarse
frog whispers, a silly though necessary process
for voices don’t simply spring up out of nowhere overnight.
When first we found our voices
potato peelers clattered into sinks;
We whipped off aprons
dropped brooms and dust pans where we stood (where we’d always stood)
sweeping up the world’s debris in a trance;
walked away from chicken sputtering in cast iron skillets,
hands clamped over horrified mouths
stifling wobbly smiles at our newfound audacity.
When first we found our voices
we thought we were dreaming,
eyes gritty with moon dust
tongue parched from too little use:
we laughed at nothing and everything indiscriminately.
We stumbled in droves
from work places
Left gardens unweeded and laundry unfolded;
began looking people straight in the eye,
(for now we had a voice to back up such daring.)
TV remotes flew from our hands like hot potatoes,
for now we had better things to do than watch pretend lives, things such as
running curious hands over our voice boxes,
reading them like Braille.
We laughed loudly and inappropriately because we could,
gazed heavenward and smiled a thanks
whether or not we ever believed in God,
though suddenly all things seemed possible!
When first we found our voices
we sent each other shy glances, knowing and savoring
the collective power of the mouse that roared;
We trembled with desire deferred
and shook like trees in the wind from the wanting of this,
Our own unique voices restored to us at last.
Laundry could wait or if not, let it mold and mildew and rot,
let someone else figure out what’s for dinner.
Were we too strident in our newfound insistence
that everyone leave us the hell alone?
There is only one credible explanation:
As prisoners suddenly released
after spending decades behind bars
for crimes they didn’t commit,
We were dumbfounded at first;
our tongues cleaved dumbly to the roofs of our mouths
until we thought we’d never find our voices again.
And then those first murmuring, squeaky sounds
and we became giddy with joyous relief.
Oh when first we found our voices
we cared for nothing else
for now, world without end
we had the ability
to call things by their proper names.
Karirose
Wonderful expression of finding freedom from an unjust prison. I do love the line “things such as running curious hands over our voice boxes,reading them like Braille.” The last stanza is perfect.