I hear you, Nazanin, by Sheila Jacob

I am not a silent poet

You wake me tonight
rattling chains
like Marley’s ghost
but there’s no death
in this haunting.

I hear your anger
as you grapple
ankle cuffs
that bind you
to your hospital bed,

I hear you warning
your captors,
and demanding
a release.
I hear the throb

of your heart
against my ribs,
your breath is strong
and rising
from my mouth,

your voice
becoming my own
as I cry out
against a madness
that was never yours.

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