By JS Watts
These words are not mine.
My whispers have become the echo
of others’ silence. I am a bell
without a clapper, a violin
without strings and I resonate
to a tune I cannot call.
A song without a tongue.
My mouth is full of rust,
is full of ash: ash of mouth
ash of ear and ash of eye.
Everything is gone to ashes.
Shake me. There is nothing left to rattle.
I am an empty vessel.
Speak at me, I echo your thoughts.
Look at me, bright as a new penny
on the outside, I reflect your image.
Strike me, your praises reverberate.
Use me, use me,
make of me what you will.
I will intone the catechism I have learned.
I will not doubt this creed of disability.