Stony Brook by Valerie Parente
Words about my self are so cold
because this conscious stream is frozen.
I’m making faces under the surface
in the name of what’s unspoken.
I questioned life on solid ground,
but I never stood a chance
at clinging to the rocks
that blistered my own hands.
Underneath the ice I laid on
was an isolation I schemed
where I was swept away by the current
as the current swept by me.
I still cross that stony brook
but I know better this time
holding my own breath
in a space so traumatized.
– Valerie Parente (5-26-2023)