Ma Mère

Written by Greta Bloom

The silence is deafening.
No.
It aches a dull sound.
When sound isn’t enough.
When food doesn’t fill hunger.
When words are empty alphabet letters.
Jumbled together by some code.
Created a million years ago.


Did they know that those words can cut human flesh?
That those letters harbour a screech so loud
They make the ocean’s molecules rise up in electric agony?
Only to then fizzle out in a desperate attempt to withstand the jagged gash
The gun shot wound
The unbearable lapse of oxygen.


The silence is deafening.
It is strangled.
It’s barren.
It’s my body trembling with white hot fear.
It’s a boat somewhere on it’s lonesome.
And only your reassuring voice brings me the sight of the shore.