Jean Morse

It is quiet there

Travel to a distant place – it is quiet
there. My voice is waiting
in this quiet place.

My voice
has power, the power
to break through

this quiet place.
My voice wants to be heard.
I am tired

of listening, tired
of a quiet place. I will shout, stamp
my feet, throw my arms up

in the air. ’Listen,
listen to me. Time is running
out.’ My voice

will be heard through the words
I write. Remembering how
I felt on horseback with the wind

rushing by. Remembering
the scent of wild
flowers in the veld at

Springtime. Remembering
dancing by firelight,
my sun-bronzed body

supple and firm.  Not constricted
by old age and pain.
My voice will be

loud and filled
with laughter –
not judgemental or critical. My voice

will create miracles.