Sharlyn
Syrupy—
thick, sweet,
mellifluous.
She mesmerizes the groundlings now—
the peers, the everyday crowd,
the ones close enough to feel
her voice in their bones.
But someday,
she’ll sing for the throngs—
hungry, affluent lovers of beauty—
who will pay
for the freedom
she longs to share
with those she loves.
Her words come from a place
no human can touch,
a place deeper than sound.
And her voice—
a warm charcoal heat—
wraps itself around
what’s broken in us,
dissolving
what harms.
Clr 2012