We We We

as though there is someone else here
in these stories
in these poems
waiting to be heard
this silent minority
that hasn’t yet thought on its own
but rather
created a chorus
echoing the emotions I push forward.

And what would it
(if given voice)
say?
What memories would it draw upon
to express
holding its hand out to the world
as a type of offering?

What would it hold dear?

And while we wait to hear
from that second soul
we listen
(of course)
into the silence.

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