As a little girl
I hear disparaging comments
Made by the adults
In my life
Judgments of people
Even people unknown
Walking down a street
In a store
Though these words do not consume
Sunday dinner conversation
Around Grandmother’s mahogany
Dining table
They are spoken often enough
To create in me
Aversion to judgmental words
Criticism
I hear them shrink into myself
Sadness moves into a corner
Of my heart
Doesn’t move out
My childhood is a patchwork quilt
Of remembering
Scenes of places faces voices
Yes voices
For I have come to understand
It is not words alone
That cause pain
Even more
It is the tone of voice
I hear it
Clench constrict
Hold my breath
It has always been so
Mother seldom speaks of father
Who leaves their marriage
When I am seven years old
But her tone of voice
When she does speak of him
Lets me know the depth
Of her bitterness
I feel devastated
Helpless
Now I understand accept
My reactions my despair
Surrounding this election cycle
I am witness to
Words never heard before
As they hang in the consciousness
Of everyone who hears them
Vocal tones of ridicule
Scorn
Project the words into the atmosphere
And the feelings they create
Invade like toxic fumes
From the tragedy of
9/11
Now at 84
Words tones of voice
May still sting
Bring distress
But it is my voice
My words
And what they do
To others
That matter more
I praise
I bless
I forgive
I breathe
