Landscape with Flatiron

I am not a child of midnight.

I have heard the mermaids singing eachtoeach

Idonotthink theywillsingtome.

What restless words invade my soul,

What fire is it that burns my eyes?

When I dream it is of a moon,

It is always of the moon,

Clouded, enshrouded

By a fog, by a veil

My world is balanced by a tail

My existence is fleeting and bleating and frail.

I do not hear the words that I read,

Only echoes

Against the hollowness of my empty self.

The children of midnight are doomed

But at least they didn’t know.

Or did they?

I am no beacon, no pillar, no rock upon which to build a church.

I am none of the people I have read,

And I am all of them.

Oh to be known—

To be heard.

To be more than the echo of a

Midnight-stricken bird.

And don’t you know:

Echoes are reflections of sound,

The younger siblings,

Forgotten and swallowed

By an impenetrable silence.

                                                -Kaitlyn Medina                       [11/18/10]

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