Amidst the Chaos

My voice is a bubble I keep in the back of my throat.
It is in the only language I know. It is small and meek as a mouse
With tiger claws and horns. My mother gave it to me
And my father tried to take it away.

Erin’s voice is a wildflower I found in the backyard.
She keeps it in her back pocket and still it grows. I cannot imagine
Why we did not put it in water, but its flowers are as vibrant
As unearthed blood, still warm.

My mother’s voice is the tip of a dragonfly’s wing.
My sister’s voice is silk-smooth and unwearable.
My father’s voice is a volcano in the school play.

My grandmother’s voice: a reverberation
Like starlight long extinguished.

I pluck each out of the universe. I give presence
to those I know, those that ring in my ears
Like symphonies, or a single violin
Otherwise unheard.