I see the her in you, the
me in him, the woman in
the man set high as though
he were above. We’re all
connected. My feathers
are your fur that are the
scales of gecko feet. We all
have skin underneath, wrinkled
in varying places depending
on the lives we’ve lived,
fragile just the same.
His silence is her shouting or
perhaps a quiet smile. We
don’t know without words that
don’t know without all the
culturally relevant nonverbal
expressions to light them
like candles in a darkened
room. We need linguists. We
need actors. We need each
of us to learn 25 languages
just to survive but in school
we are only taught one. So
many species. Only one
creation. We’re like God
that way, being many in a
singular way.
Not Quiet Any More 