(Picture from http://unknowndot.deviantart.com)
Martina sings
She signs loud, she sings soft, she sings quick, she
sings slow.
She sings songs from the radio.
Sometimes, at night,
With the house all asleep,
Martina dreams of singing, and that works alright.
She’s be doing it for so long,
She can’t remember why.
But when does it, when she sings soft and quick or slow and
loud, or any other combination in between
Things feel a little better a little less obscene
a little less like being ground in the machine
a little more keen
just a touch close to supreme.
So she sings
and
sings
and
sings
For mom, with her cancer and for dad, in the ground
For Theresa, round with child and Eric, sleeping sound
She sings out with such might, with a hope and a prayer
and wonders and hopes
That maybe someone might sing for her too, somewhere out
there.
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