Declaration

• Marc Urena Moline, Grade 7
• Poetry
• 2022

There is no innocent word,
nor hollow silence cradling her,
and every gesture masks an affair
buried in the darkness of the prison.

Sway me in this immaculate silence
before the fear arrives,
and the restlessness disturbs the winged bird
that with blind uneasiness crosses me.

The pencil slips
On the white ice
Melting the blood
That already floats from the skin.

Who chalks the paper
to the beat
of my dance?