You bubble, a cool afternoon creek

But your words get cut, midsentence.

A slice of anger hurled your way.

Grating, she says. Too loud.

Silence, the stony classroom demands.


I will not talk, I will not talk,

you print on loose leaf paper.

Wrists shaking, pencil pressing

I will not talk, you write,

Two, or is it two hundred, times.


I know they don’t see

You, but I do.


I see your gesso-colored dreams,

your cut-glass visions, spun from gold.

I see your heart woven, to connect

Isis is your favorite.

The Goddess of Magic and Healing


Speak little darling,

don’t lose your voice


Come here. I’ll tell you a diamond truth.

Their anger is a knotted ball, a wildly stomping fear

Close your eyes and blow.

Can you see?

Dandelions scatter in the sun.


Seize a swath of royal blue,

and wrap it gracefully round your neck.

Gather a string of golden rings,

Nest the crown atop your ancient hair.

Speak little darling. Now lift your voice.


Let your wisdom shine.


—Diane Douiyssi

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BANNER Photo by Siora Photography on Unsplash