The Wood County Committee on Aging (WCCOA) would like to announce the winners for the 19th Annual Poetry Contest. Submissions were accepted from Wood County residents 50 years of age and over, with a theme of “Voices Unheard”. A total of 31 poems from 25 authors were submitted, and a BGSU writing professor reviewed the submissions and selected a winner and an honorable mention.
Carol Rinehart of Fostoria is the first place winner with her poem entitled, “Being Alone.” She won a $100 gift card sponsored by the Manor of Perrysburg.
Carol enjoys writing and has written numerous articles for the Review Times in Fostoria. Carol has written a book entitled, “When the Troop Train Stopped in Fostoria.” The book shares the stories of World War II military personnel and their interactions with her family at her family home. Carol also enjoys writing poetry and has included poems in this book as well.
Bowling Green State University Associate Writing Professor Chad Van Buskirk coordinated the students and professor who were this year’s judges of the contest. A special thank you to Professor Amorak Huey and his graduate students Mary Robles, and Caleb Edmondson for taking the time to judge these poems. The graduate students are working towards their Master of Fine Arts in Creative Writing at Bowling Green State University.
The judges reflected on the winning poem entitled, “Being Alone” and stated, “this poem is full of beautiful and moving introspection. The tension and voice stand out. It is frank and honest; it captures the spirit of the theme. Engages the reader on ionic, sensory, and emotional levels.”
Tammyan Metz Starr of Bowling Green is the runner up with her poem entitled, “B17 Bomber Exit” winning a $50 gift card sponsored by Wood Haven Health Care. The judges stated, “this poem had attention to narrative, imagery and description, particularly strong sense of character and place. A fun an emotionally resonant poem to read.”
Honorable Mention was awarded to Deb Halsey with the poem “A Valentine for Susan” Congratulations to Carol, Tammy and Deb and thank you to everyone that participated in this year’s contest. We received many fantastic entries and look forward to sharing them with the community.
Winning Poem!
Being Alone
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Carole Rinehart
When I am alone I
am not old
I do the things I have always done
I may rise a little slower from the sofa
I may reach more carefully
To pick something off the floor
I drive, cook, shower, fix my hair, read,
Play Scrabble and Mahjongg
But when I am with others
They see the old woman
They want to take my arm to guide me
They tell me to take a seat while they
Take care of everything
They will bring me food at a party
So I don’t have to carry a plate
They tend to me because they care for me
And to them I am an old woman
I am content to be alone
When I am alone I am not old
Runner Up
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Tammyan Metz Starr
Carioca Joe has a
rather nice home. He stays, all alone, inside it.
Submerged knee deep
in photos, mementos. Stinking deeper, planning his exit.
I knocked on the
door and yell, “Hello-o! Hey Joe.” “Come in!” I hear in return.
“I’m out back. I’m
stuck, but not hurt. I can’t get my legs to work!”
As I make my way
back, I say, “That’s why I’m here. I’ve got you,” and I reach down to help him
up.
He waves me off,
“Don’t bother. I’ve worked it all out. You know, during the war, kid, I could
fly.”
Then in the
backyard with coughing, sputtering, B17 engines 1-2-3-4 come alive.
“Hand me that
jacket.” I salute and oblige. He slides the bomber on coolly. No tremor, just
pride.
“Now pick me up.”
I do as I’m told. We samba, swing, rumba into a fireman’s hold.
He says, “I’m
going to see Rose. I’m not coming back.” “That’s great, Joe. She’ll be so
pleased to see you.”
“She was quite the
dancer, legs for days, what a kisser!”
“Come on, Joe,
let’s poke our heads into the hatch.”
The fortress was
full. All around, slaps and claps from the crew. Joey, Billy, Kit, Manny, and
Schmidt.
Minski up front.
Toad and Tommy at waist. I heave-hoed, and loaded Joe in.
“You coming along?
The ball turret is free. Quite cozy. A lullaby ride.”
“No thanks, Joe,
you go on. Be safe, godspeed, and hug Rosie for me.”
“Joe, Joe! Wait,
wait, wait! All of your pictures inside. Do you want them? I will run in and
retrieve!”
He smiles, but
ignores. Dons headset, and cap. Begins a pre-flight safety check.
I see Joe pat down
his AAF patch. He fishes out of pocket Lucky Strikes, and a match, and a little
pocket locket picture of Rosie and him.
He bites down on
the photo between grinning teeth, he says, “Don’t bother, kid. I’ve got all I
need!”
Then a strike, a
flash, a drag, and a toss. Fast flames to life’s trinkets. Fast flames to the
memories of lives lived, and lives lost. Up and away, over a fiery and smokey
bloom.
Carioca Joe with
his crew. No longer alone.
Honorable Mention
A Valentine for Susan
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Deb Halsey
Always Loving
the Kind
Friend, Daughter,
Girlfriend,
Dancer, Musician.
Now she
Loves
Herself
too.
All of our Entries for 2025
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Jon Ahlberg
The old man
shuffled down the street,
Many a mile on his
weary feet,
On his windburned
face a look of defeat,
And I wondered,
why didn’t someone do something?
The legless man
came back from war,
His aching body
tired and sore,
A silent reminder
of the pain he bore,
And I wondered,
why didn’t someone do something?
The homeless
mother held to her chest,
The babe that
suckles from her breast,
Out on the streets
that she detests
And I wondered,
why didn’t someone do something?
The gray haired
lady sits at home,
Her son won’t take
the time to phone,
Her husband’s gone,
she’s all alone,
And I wondered,
why didn’t someone do something?
Oh grant me Lord
from up above,
The comfort of thy
perfect love,
And guide me Lord
that I might see,
That of course,
someone is me!
Who Am I
---------------------------------------------------
John Calderonello
I am not him, or
her, or them. I am,
somewhat, the me
that they see.
Or even that they
think they see.
And I become that
which they see because I am,
in part, that
which they see.
And should they
pass on, is the me that is me owed to their knowing me,
diluted in a fog
of memory?
And with that
passing, the me that they saw, can I now reform anew and become more
of me
transformed,
distilled, solidified?
Are those parts of
me formed by their knowing me gone with their passing?
Can I pull back,
reform, fortify?
Am I left only
with memories which, in that repetitive memorial, are altered,
transfigured in
that remembrance.
Am I to become a
new me? A me that can not now be verified by them who knew that
me?
When so much is
taken away by their passing, will so much be given in return?
Is my grief in
their passing but love with nowhere to go?
Now I stand ever
more firm
To be the me in
the eyes of those that still see me as they see me,
To know them
intently.
For the best way
to know oneself
Is to know others,
To truly know.
The
gift
---------------------------------------------------
John Calderonello
There are hints of truth in dreams
Merely glimpsed in daylight
In one such dream past you offered to all
Countless photos of your past
Of things and times vivid and revered
But no one wants them, so
You discard them with regret
In one other dream you in a small room
Constrained
Limited by four walls, a ceiling, a floor
Then the room expands outward by
enormous degrees
The walls disappear
A sense of limitless space envelops you
A vastness of which there no end
No beginning
You effloresce with immense joy and
embrace all
You’ve become no mere part of it
You are all of that which you see and feel
You are it and it is you
Please Visit Me
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Laura Feldkamp
“Laura, get here NOW! I
need to see you right away.”
The urgent message goes
to my voicemail ten times a day.
Grateful you still
remember my name.
The least I could do is
stop by after work.
So tired from a long day,
but if I don’t go, I’ll
feel like a jerk.
You jump from the
recliner as soon as the lock clicks.
“Where are we going? Are
we getting out of here? Quick!”
I give you my best smile
and grab your keys.
We walk and check your
mail,
nodding hello to all the nameless
faces we see.
You hide from them like a
thief in the night,
this awful disease that’s
stealing your sense of what’s right.
They all look new to you
even though you’ve surely passed by them.
When a small white dog
passes by you,
you perk up and kneel
beside him.
We walk the waterside
path looking for deer.
“There’s one!” you cry,
with a five-year-old jeer.
We head back in after a
few laps.
You’re winded, but not
wanting me to go;
hoping I’ll stay,
perhaps.
I start the shower and
help you in, sudsing your thin hair.
Time for your nightgown
and the 11 o’clock news.
You used to comment on
each story, but now you look confused.
Your thumbs start the
comforting circle dance.
I struggle getting you
ready for my goodbye.
Yes, I promise to come
back as soon as I get the chance.
Good night, mom.
As soon as I get in my
car, my phone starts to ring.
“Laura, get in here NOW!
I need to see you right away.”
Voices Unheard
---------------------------------------------------
Carol Kinsey
They are
everywhere
I pen pal with someone in prison, in prison for a long time
that is definitely a voice not
easily heard outside of his cell
Not heard with attention,
with any sense of
having significance.
A teen realizing
born in a body not their match
If speaks of - be prepared for
not sure what
acceptance or ridicule
such a risk to let the words
out
such a risk not.
Pregnant, knows
not right for her or this to-be-child
If speaks of - be prepared for
not sure what
acceptance or ridicule
such a risk to let the words
out
such a risk not.
Hidden bruises
If speaks of … what?
Ready to die
If speaks of this… ?
We each have our
own
major or minor - like music
If speak of - can
we be prepared for not sure what
acceptance or ridicule
such a risk to let the words
out
such a risk not.
What can move our
voices from silence to truth spoken?
Willing, kind
listeners can. Can make a place for our
words.
May we each find
this, may we each offer this.
Unheard voices.
They are
everywhere…
Beyond the Silence
---------------------------------------------------
Tom Konecny
They see silence. I see
resting.
They see static. I see
more delicate.
They see irritable. I see
opportunity.
The spirit, the
soul — it is there.
There are smiles
and laughs.
There is learning
and absorbing.
Much is the same.
Yet it is
different.
Different isn’t
gloom.
Inability isn’t
negative.
Helplessness isn’t
despair.
Losing capacity
isn’t the end.
A stare does not
mean fading, only changing.
Why worry, what
will happen? What’s next?
Emphasize today.
Children are not
our future; elders are not our past.
Both are the
present — here and now.
They are hope.
Where there is
hope, there is life.
I’m part of it. So
is she.
We are blessed.
Very blessed.
The Lucky One
---------------------------------------------------
Carole Rinehart
I am the lucky
one, sitting here in my comfy chair
Snuggled in blankets
Looking out at the quarry
With snow all around it
Snow on the rooftops
Geese swimming or resting
On the branch of a fallen tree
And I am here in my comfy chair
Inside, warm, looking out.
Voices Unheard
---------------------------------------------------
Karen Witte
Voices unheard may
be loudest of all.
Even if the ears
miss them, hearts will hear their
Call.
Voices can be
found in art, where pictures tell
The story.
Voices in Nature’s
wonders all proclaim
God’s glory.
It’s not hard to
find the voices in the greatest
books.
In the movies
voices speak to us with looks.
Love and music
need no words to make their
Feelings clear.
They complement
each other in ways no
ear can hear.
Glances, touches,
kisses. These are the
Voice of love, and
even though they are
Silent, they’re as
gentle as a dove.
Deep feelings
often do that. They make it
hard to speak.
They tie your
tongue, they fog your brain,
they make your
knees go weak.
Is speech
necessary? Is it for the birds?
Remember your
actions speak much louder
Than your words.
LOVE
---------------------------------------------------
Cathi Arcuri
Love
Love is a big word
though it doesn’t look like it.
Love has it’s ups
Love has it’s downs
Love can leave scars for life
Love can bring happiness for life
Love confuses
Love is just a big word that means
God loves YOU!!
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Terry L Nowicki
Peace behind eyelashes
holding quietly still
Reveling in the Sage
The yearning has been answered
with
enough
Quiet interrupted
an impatient sneeze
A smile comes to front
Peace returns again
behind eyelashes
complete
---------------------------------------------------
Willis Beck
One year, one week, one day I found,
A
book that matched me pound for pound.
There the book stood for many a day;
Each
turn of the clock, waiting for a way,
To share with the World what I have to say.
I have stories to tell and songs to sing;
Of
the things I have done, and the things I have seen
Memories of the past come with a cost;
You
can’t write them down before they are lost!
The days of happiness over the years,
Are
matched with sadness loss and tears.
Joyful words in the chapters of life;
Come
mixed with days of both sorrow and strife.
Of the nine decades I’ve collected “Life’s Bounty”,
My
“Lucky Seven” were in Wood County
VOICES
UNDER WRAPS
---------------------------------------------------
R. E. Yanik
They act
complacent, submissive, frozen
Not wanting to
recognize the anxiety.
This body of elected
voices,
Unmoved by
conscience or concerns.
They ignore
upholding what is right,
The law and
justice.
Fearful of
standing against the force
And promised
retribution.
They give support
and credence
To questionable
orders, plans, and ideas,
Ignoring concerns
of apprehensive constituents.
They appear
paralyzed
With no
independent plan or goal.
This Congress that
should be defenders, protectors, safekeepers
Of our laws and
Constitution.
As they crouch in
disguise of good intentions,
They conform to a
master to preserve
Their position and
sustain their livelihood
But not to help
the common population.
Complications are
overlooked,
Purgings sweep
over legitimate procedures and agencies,
Destroying and
trashing rather than streamlining or evaluating
And implementing
positive changes.
We are the
concerned masses,
Talking, writing,
straining, crying to be heard,
To be allowed a
voice for the future
And a hope to see
progress.
They are unmoved,
unhearing, uncaring.
Recalcitrant in
ungovernability,
Resisting truth
before them,
Snubbing the wise,
rejecting the logical,
And cheaply
herding together for a change
That has no
promise.
This story has
just begun and the conclusion cannot be predicted.
Even a climax
cannot be measured.
This account has
contrived to challenge the sensibilities of the people.
Is it supremacy of
administration that responds and protects,
Or is it the
operatives that wield and destroy
To “Make America
great again”?
The propaganda
slants the truth.
So many concerning
voices left ignored and unheard.
---------------------------------------------------
Frank Day
The fires burn,
and raging bright.
Bundle of sticks
tends the flame.
Native delight.
Hunting is easy,
wars not near.
Food aplenty along
the sand ridge.
But madmen white
ride in with clear battle cry.
Along the Maumee
and fallen timbers sigh.
War chants killed
at the water’s bend.
Swamp is drained,
seeds are sown.
Hot rum and Bible
comfort the unknown.
A college rises,
prospering with Falcon might.
Good times and bad
times, all take flight.
Now write your
story, living and bright.
Tend the raging
fire, with mind’s insight.
For in our time,
through struggle and strife,
your journey burns
with bundling of life.
At the Loom
---------------------------------------------------
Deb Halsey
She carefully threads the weft
Wound with her hopes and dreams,
Her mother’s sayings and traditions,
Her grandmother’s determination and resiliency.
He rests in the Big Boy Bed
Dreaming of puppies and kites, toy trucks and crayons.
Soon he will begin to weave
Teachers and playmates creating patterns;
Obsessions and hobbies forming textures;
Travels and adventures, sadness and joy adding colors she had never
imagined!
Decades will pass, the woman, the boy and the shuttle
Steadily shaping the tapestry, the unique story of their lives.
---------------------------------------------------
Lisa C. Chavers
How can voices be unheard?
How do we miss words that are uttered?
Are we disinterested? Distracted? Dull of hearing
in our ears?
Has a hearing impairment affected us over the
years?
Have we been diagnosed as being partially deaf?
Do things sound like word salad prepared by a chef?
Perhaps our auditory nerves are nor working well?
Well, we can raise our own voices and speak up to
be heard.
There is power in every expression and in each
spoken word
All of us have thoughts, opinions, and experiences
to express.
So, let’s communicate them, and put another’s ear
to the test.
We could become a voice for the voiceless.
Articulating their cause, would not be meaningless.
Humans tend to listen selectively.
What kind of listener have you chosen to be?
Only God can always hear every single voice.
Which reflects His divine ability and unbiased
choice.
---------------------------------------------------
Jo McAfee
Do You see me?
I’m down on my
Knee.
Do you hear me?
my voice is
screaming freely.
I Have A voice.
I Have things to
say.
I Have a choice.
It’s not a cliché.
Listen to me.
Hear what I say.
Wise words it
could Be.
Not words That
will betray.
Don’t look the
other way
Just because I’m
old.
My words do have
something to convey.
My voice will not
be controlled.
My Life has been
long Lived.
Many trials I Have
Been through.
I Got through each
one and survived
My words could
help you through too.
Unheard
Voices Unite!
---------------------------------------------------
Jo McAfee
We the unseen
People need to standup
Lifting our
unheard voices to unite
Everyone Holding
our heads up
Let them feel our
dedication and fight.
Let’s stand in
large crowds that confines
With our voices we
chant to be heard
Waving and shaking
these homemade signs
The Lines of
Justice have been blurred
We yell out for
our rights that must be restored
The injustice and
prejudice must be stopped
We stand Tall and
Proud, NOT TO Be ignored
Until the
unfairness and attacks are blocked
We must unite the
people and not divide
Together we stand
and will defeat anything
Should er to
Shoulder Displaying our Great AMERICAN Pride
For we the people
DO NOT NEED A KING!
Inside Thoughts
---------------------------------------------------
Judy Kline
Have I taken up the cross
Have I done my best
For the One Who gave His best for me
Are my thoughts the best that they can be
Are my feet taking me where I should go
Are my ears hearing all that I should know
Are my eyes seeing what they ought to see
And to my hands help others happily
Are my actions always pleasing to Thee
And are my words without hypocrisy
These unheard thoughts are deep inside me
What will my answer and actions be
For the One Who gave His best for me
And knowing that He is watching me
Teach me Your will and words and way
Give me compassion every day
Make me a channel of Your love
Lead me as You look from above
Without Voice
---------------------------------------------------
Michelle Malik
My eyes speak many
words without a voice.
Look deep into
them.
They speak loud
and clear.
I can tell you I’m
really, really hungry.
I need a drink of
cool, thirst-quenching water.
Look into my big,
brown, gorgeous eyes wide open as a stranger enters my world. I am fearful. I
don’t know this person. Are we safe?
Does this person
belong here?
My glossy,
squinting, staring eyes can express ANGER.
I don’t like where
I am. Who is this evil in my space?
My glowing,
sparking enthusiastic eyes can also say; I’m really glad you’re home. Let’s
play together. I love you and I’ll always protect you.
I’m clad you care
about me too.
I am your dog.
My eyes speak many
words. Today, they say I am happy.
If I Were In Charge
(Musings by Chloedog)
---------------------------------------------------
Cindy Adcock
What would it be
like if I walked Cindy, instead of her walking me?
At my slightest
glance, “Oh, Chloe let me take you for a walk,” she’d say with a smile.
She’d attach my
leash with a practiced hand,
And, politely
stepping aside, would allow me to exit my house with grace.
Once outside, I’d
ignore her impatience and carefully consider our route.
Maybe I’d pull her
across the street,
Or down the
street, or up the street, according to my whim.
Or maybe after all
the effort she’d made to take me out,
I’d decide I
really didn’t want to leave my house
Because of
thunder, or firecrackers, or lightening bugs, or I don’t know what.
And there’d be
nothing she could do about it.
I’d plant my paws
firmly in the sidewalk and refuse to budge until
She’d say in a
voice full of resignation, “OK, Chloe, let’s go back home.”
We’d always walk
at my pace; she’d have to conform to mine.
When I wanted, off
we’d go at a gallop, me pulling her behind.
I’d be laughing,
but not her. She’d be gulping for air.
Or sometimes I’d
plop right down and roll in the grass.
And I’d be the one
to decide when I’d had enough.
I wouldn’t let her
drag me along the ground ‘til my bruised pride forced me up.
And yes, when it
was time to pee, I’d stop as abruptly as I wanted.
But I’d take my
time before I’d lift my leg, ignoring any “hurry up” from her.
And I’d go where I
wanted, even on someone’s front yard.
With luck I’d find
a pizza crust, a good hard pizza crust
Thrown down by
some Good Samaritan student.
I’d see stupid
squirrels and foolish rabbits, and nose my favorite mouse hole.
Even
if she wanted to avoid a puddle, I’d charge right in.
I’d
savor the oily water as it swirled over my tongue.
I’d
smile at my reflection.
Come
to think of it, if I were in charge,
I’d
just do what I wanted, every time, all the time.
I’d
even, if I could, leave Cindy at home!
Voices
from Wood County
---------------------------------------------------
Dru
Cunningham
I never met you
But you lie beneath the ground on which I walk,
If only you could talk.
Your gravestone smooth
Years and weather wiped away
Gone, your name
But you live on
Just the same.
You came, you worked.
You changed this place
From wilderness
You made the face of all we have and hold.
You dug deep ditches
Drained the swamp
Tilled the fields
Burned your lamp across this land of promise.
Roads and streets still speak your name
Schools and business bring lasting fame;
Stories of hardship, bravery, and wit
Never will die when heard anew
Though often, now hidden from view.
Our story lives on
What will it say?
What change will we make?
It’s happening … TODAY!
---------------------------------------------------
Barbara Gould
The warning is
alarming!
Are you afraid?
Will we have to
find a new nesting field?
Not today but it’s
a real fear
These cold areas
are so dear.
Lets hope they
don’t disappear.
---------------------------------------------------
Barbara Gould
I’m a proud Puffin
sitting on a hill
Waiting for a fish
to appear
Also roaming
around for food to be found
Because baby
chirps are the sound.
---------------------------------------------------
Tim Tressel
We are all bidders at an auction moving through life.
We are all bidder at an auction moving through life.
Watch me – watch me, as I search the crowd.
Get
ready – get set, it’s going to get loud.
The
Auctioneer – his voice, his cadence, the rapid-fire pace.
The
bidders are always wide-eyed, never wanting to miss.
Will
this be their hour – minute – day of bliss.
We
won – we won – someone cries out.
It
certainly was a voice that was heard all about.
The
next item was proudly shown,
and
with a short snappy description everyone understood the tone.
Back
and forth the bidding was dramatic,
and
then a sudden outburst, a voice was being sarcastic.
When
the hammer fell and everyone was all in,
the
astonished look fixed within the crowd – a voice was heard, “He won again!”.
With
confidence that had no match,
the
victor twice, was ready to defend and summarily dispatch.
Without
warning his tactic became different – a change to get the prize.
When
it was between him and her – it was time to realize.
Everyone
in shock – he gave a wink, a nod, a look to her, she was on top.
The
auction continued strong – time for the next item, what could go wrong.
Is
it time to be protective, guarded, or even corrective?
The
decision was made, wisdom prevailed – no one is giving up, the devil in the
details.
“The
last item” – the Auctioneer, still crisper.
My voice however – weary, worn, now a whisper.
It’s
been a long day – it’s been a long life.
My body is heavy – it’s time to consider the afterlife.
Please
remember my actions, my story is told.
The Auctioneer swings the final gavel – “Sold!”
No
more voices. Voices Unheard
Crying of the Insecure
---------------------------------------------------
Dean B. Shaw
A
cry in the dark, a cry in the night,
A cry for significance has now come
to light.
In
the shadowed recesses of my mind I rehearse,
“I can’t, but I wish I could.”
This becomes a most
discouraging verse.
Echoing
Incessantly,
“I don’t have the talent. I’m not
that smart.
Those with grace, charm
and appeal clearly stand apart.”
Over
and over these words resound in my head,
Their persistence undying,
They keep me awake as I
lie on my bed.
Before
long I become so beaten down,
I try to change my thinking,
I want to rise up but I
can’t come around.
A
cry in the dark, a cry in the night,
A cry for significance has now lost
its fight.
---------------------------------------------------
Dean B. Shaw
I saw you were hurting today; Not interested so I
looked away.
Rumors
swirled, you got into something big; I looked over at you again, what a prig.
I don’t know if it’s true: But you sat there
looking so blue.
Maybe
something encouraging I could say; You looked up, all I said was, “Hey.”
Eye contact with you was made; I saw the light in
your eyes did fade.
You
looked back to the ground; I turned, deciding to walk around.
People were laughing and pointing; You were clearly
uncomfortable with their unholy anointing.
You
got up crying and ran away; News about you reached me on the third day.
No one was around you when you took those pills;
That must have been the best way to cure your ills.
We
all wondered why you were so sad; What you’d done wasn’t that bad.
You were brutal in all that you wrote; You answered
a lot of questions with your good-bye note.
Next time I won’t turn and walk away; I’ll try not
letting anyone choose this as their last day.
---------------------------------------------------
Holli K. Brunner
Suffering
in Silence
I feel all
alone
Like an
outsider
Suffering
in Silence
Who can I
talk to
No one
seems to care
Suffering
in Silence
So I’ll
say GOODBYE
No more
suffering
Now all
will be SILENT
Unheard Voice
---------------------------------------------------
Mary Kaczor
She
stands beside the bed in the small cubical,
gazing
down at the young, now peaceful, face
As
always, she wonders how a life could feel
so
wrong, that this was the only answer.
But
no voice is heard, no reason is given.
She
begins talking her way through her
15
minute check, “I’m going to take your
blood
pressure, you will feel the cuff on your
arm,
It will get tight, but don’t be afraid.”
Again
no voice is heard
Next
she moves to pupil checks, “I’m
going
to shine a light into your eyes.”
She
is thrilled to see reaction in both eyes
She
leans close to their ear and
whispers,
“FIGHT!, Make your voice heard,
make
your needs known! You are worth
it,
you are needed!”
She
turns away to chart her findings.
When
she looks back she knows that her
voice
was heard, as a single tear flows
down
a peaceful smiling face
With
that the unheard voice said “Thank you”
