Unsung Her words trickle from her tongue like fire Blaze through the darkness, igniting night Still air rattles from the heat, bubbles up spills over the edges of convention Her honest words have the power to spark And, with the mere soft fanning of a sigh, take down ancient forests of rudiments Destroying the homes of antiquity Burning, burning, burning, below a bright sky as blinding as the fire she bore Let the brazen trees burn in effigy Crooners, male, of course, no nest to protect Their haughty songs bellowing through treetops The sound of freedom as they flee the flames The fairywren who lays the eggs evolved Songless, silent, hushed, unwilling to risk As much as any alluring voice asks I, too, seek humiliating refuge in silence, Protecting my own vulnerable nest, Sacrificing my voice, my truth, my song, My words singe the corners of convention Threaten a lush forest of protection When I sought a listener for my song
Jaime Grookett is an advocate for the disenfranchised, be it women, those suffering from substance use disorder, BIPOC, or neglected children. She teaches Writing at the college level and is pursuing her MFA in Creative Writing. She is currently working on an historical fiction novel as well as a poetry collection. You can find out more about her on Twitter at https://twitter.com/JGrookett, Instagram at https://www.instagram.com/jaimegrookett/ and https://jaimegrookett.com.
Grand Little Things 