by Emma Freeman

I wonder,

what is held inside that little box inside my throat?

An ancient instrument

patiently waiting for its strings to be played

Does it hold all of the words I’ve ever spoken?

All of the songs I’ve ever sung?

Does it hold every laugh

and every resonating mmmmm

Does it contain all of the voices of my ancestors

that live inside the cells of my body?

From above and below

wind flows through that box

back and forth

like an open window

energy flowing in and out

sometimes pouring itself into the vessel of a word

that then finds other vessels hidden deep within

creating a train of thought that begins to

travel along a stream of consciousness

eventually becoming so charged that it must move up and out

passing over the bridge of those sacred chords

creating vibrations that ripple through the air

dancing and wrapping themselves around a warm, soft body

searching for and eventually finding their open window

to float through…