Voiceless

Voiceless

Previously printed in Out Loud Anthology III by Midwest Writing Center 2096

I don’t know her story,

but I can guess. 

She moves through the hallways,

her body hugging itself,

drawn to walls like a magnet.

Even in the heat,

she wears her brown hoodie

like a shell.

She does not speak.

Eye contact misses

like a picture

hanging off kilter.

She is not stupid.

She is not slow.

She is a ghost

whose twin is psychotic.

Never where she’s supposed to be,

she finds an alcove and becomes still—

as if by not moving

she will disappear.

Though I have offered her books,

she steals them,

hiding her contraband in hoodie pockets

to incubate.

I have tried

to connect—

even though I find

her mute existence

maddening.

I can see

her future story,

dancing at street corners

to the voices

only she hears,

lunging into traffic

to get to somewhere safe.

She used to hide under desks.

They say

she has come a long way,

but when I look

into her spongy, dark eyes,

I see the fear

stark and unabated,

and I can do

nothing.

        —Katherine M. Searle

          26 May 2007