Her Name

   

What is her name? Not

the name she is called by,

but the name that calls her.

She can almost hear it

just at the edge of sound,

a whisper, a hum.

 

It’s a name that lives

in that between space,

the fog between dream

and waking, between

words and silence,

between water and steam

or water and ice.

 

It’s a name that hisses

and crackles, a name

without syllables, vowels,

or consonants. If she

could only hear it, if

she could only say it, she 

would know who she is.

 

 

#poem-a-day  #poem