You’ve written your last words; you will not speak them
His spell would not let you, anyway
Not now; after years of wielding tiny pins—
too small for dancing angels—
he ruptures your vocal cords, tearing (through)
Only a croak escaping

You offer this croak to the sea witch; you’ve nothing else to barter
You’d given it all to him. Anyway.
Not now, but before, your voice was mesmerizing—
too large for one body to contain—
she shakes her heavy head, tearing (up)
Salty lips finding yours

You’d expected an end; you receive a beginning
Or the potential for one, anyway
For now, during your darkest moment—
too intimate to remain unshared—
you recognize your power, tearing (away)
Only your last words remaining

You’ve created your own space; you refuse to hide in it
He will not find you anyway
Not now; he can’t fathom your existence in time—
too entangled to separate your past from her future—
you clasp each other tight and run, tearing (by)
World and word blurring

© 2024 Jenna Hanchey