I lost my voice. I left it on the plane
last week or in a hotel meeting room
three levels underground. The weekend rain
orated hail on windows, thunder’s boom —
while I resolved to silence stayed within.
I wrapped myself in cotton, drank hot tea,
and gave my voice a break. Now I begin
to speak again, in crack cacophony.
I thought of signing as I held my tongue,
and empathized with mermaids mute by choice.
I tested aspiration, tried to hum,
but most the time I didn’t use my voice.
Reserving it for worthy words, I found
no reason in two days to make a sound.