Nov 26, 2022
1 min read
Being Two
Words are forming slowly
yet tumble quickly from her mouth.
I remember being two myself.
How was it I understood all
they were saying
but could never make myself heard?
Each scene was bewilderment —
every stanza failed.
I recall the outrage even now.
To sit at the window alone
was solace —
a silent slipping into
the hum of the world.
Copyright Simon Heathcote
