The Voices Behind the Curtain
once in a while,
we roll tongue against skin
and skin against teeth
and it is not all, show
primitive sounds escape
revealing, a life’s worth of
hidden auroras and clear
summer skies
and we think we are
together in our loneliness,
reveling in mutual emptiness
mouth muscles contract
pouring out fear after fear
doubt after truth,
deviating from our daily scripts
my voice screamed for compassion
but your ears could not take in
the sound of humanity
© Nathalie M. Viorato
Of Good Days
On a good day- you can barely
hear the echoes of a million feet
marching solemnly into their cages
pacing past slabs of grey concrete
darting in between yellow blurs
and fragile skyscrapping glass
barely scratching the surface of the sky
You can walk on worn out asphalt
and miss the cracks on paper thin walls
listen- to hard jazz emanating from Battery Park
and not be disturbed by the whispers
of the homeless man
around the corner
with a sign that reads- today is a beautiful day-
Down by the MET, you can sketch a portrait
of a man and a woman-
cradling one another in each others arms
and leave out the hungry desperation in their eyes
outline the skeleton of hard hands and soft fingers
almost grazing each other-but not quite
and miss the stifling air that resides
between two inches of space
you can trace the curvature of their lips
heavy with truth that they wont speak
-we were also having a good day-
a good day today- the homeless man is gone
lost among the trails of the forgotten and
the silent pleas of humanity
and you are not thinking of me
but you are content
and- I am writing you
keeping track of History
reliving the last good day we had
on a good day, it’s a tragedy
©Nathalie M. Viorato
