The Tribunal The idea was to speak but none of us spoke. We stood in a line. Moonlight wouldn’t reveal what lay in shadow and our silence felt no echo between us. Like the darkness inside a cave, that complete. We held paper strips over our mouths. As the dream turned a corner the lighting changed. Somewhere the sun appeared a final glimmer. It became clear the paper strips held the names of the dead. That they were once wish-fulfilling trees. We held the paper over our mouths, but it wasn’t as if we had no idea where our silence would take us. Copyright 2024 Emily Carlson
Emily Carlson is the author of four poetry chapbooks including Why Misread a Cloud, selected by Kimiko Hahn for Tupelo Press’ 2022 Sunken Garden Chapbook Poetry Award; check out their website here: https://emilycarlsonweb.wordpress.com/.
30 for 30 is sponsored by Potomac Review
