Deanna Witter
We don’t look very desperate
but it doesn’t mean we aren’t.
The winter wind roars deep around us
the raucous howl seems so familiar.
As the scream moves deeper
and further
it doesn’t mean it has subsided.
It is discordant in absence.
My son told me the mistakes I feel
are only my perception
forgetting what he said the day before.
His pain is real.
My pain is his.
His pain is mine
exponentially now.
The wind roars somewhere else today.
The desperation is not loud
but it doesn’t mean it isn’t here.
