14 November 2009 | Vol. 9, No. 3
Don't Scream
The quality of silence
becomes a frog.
Seconds sip the sound
and the song.
Hours lick the pain
becoming ashes
and chopped hair.
Cut, cut the envelope says.
Keep it deep
and hide
my father says.
I obey limits, green soup
and insomnia. Let
the salt make just a wound
a cut in the sky,
cloud open washing
cars and my hair—grows
too long.
Bells ring
on my knees
strawberry and mint.
Now blue is distance
and silence turns red.
About the author:
Carolina Vargas, a dual citizen of the U.S. and Colombia, was born in Bogotá. Sharing two cultures and languages, she writes, thinks, dreams, and talks in both. She graduated from Agnes Scott College, then studied and traveled for two years in Spain and France. She received an MFA in poetry from Arizona State University. At present she lives in Columbus, Ohio, gardening, writing, painting, and volunteering at the hospital.
For further reading:
See the complete list of work by Carolina Vargas at 42opus. Browse the contents of 42opus Vol. 9, No. 3, where "Don't Scream" ran on November 14, 2009. List other work with these same labels: poetry.
