Alisa Muniz Blanchard Copyright 2014
The shackles
Holding my the throat
Have begun to
Feel like skin itself
There comes a time
For the shearing
Releasing loose ends
And knotted locks
To discover what might exist
In murky mystery
Cut and cut
Windows of self
Raw and forgotten
Can only be seen
Or covered up again
Slipping from memory
Calls of the heart skip beats
Murmurs of recollection
Of why it is
We decide to live
