By Tina Arya
She hears them scream “Why doesn’t she speak”
Her sharp shyness keeping them at an arm’s length
And when she speaks it sounds like a shriek
But for a lucky few her voice tastes sweeter than honeydew
The moon hears her silent cries
Weeping for those who leave without saying goodbye
She’s a bird with a song, but no one to sing to
And so she goes to bed, humming to the moon