She let her voice warm in the summer months
so it would hold out through the winter.
Paid rent by singing carols - her sister's
old clothes trailing tinsel streets.
Under porch lights her hair became that of
other people. She had learnt it best to morph
here. When she was small, their town's posters
used to scream about her mother's voice
all in the weeks that saw the harvest grow. Come
November her voice grew thinner
until it would fit inside a jewellery box.
They lost it in the garden, then, buried in
along with waiting bulbs. They water it
while it's still light - before knocking on
their neighbours doors, singing away diseases.
[tag word: SINGER - from June Thomas @vodkahic]
100 Poem Challenge: writing 100 poems in a weekend to raise money for EEC International.