by Erin Schalk
My voice
resounds
swells through a stadium,
wafts through the cabaret
like fragrance.
My eyes, flooded
with white-out glare,
sharpened sunlight ricochets
from asphalt, my chrome
microphone becomes
a white cane.
My appearance, too
unconventional.
conceal your differences -
they said - but,
you won’t have a typical
singing career.
But, my white hair
becomes silk-spun threads,
my eyelashes are
moonlight crescents.
I am a singer:
a spotlight surrounds,
radiates from,
me.
***
Erin Schalk is a writer, visual artist, and educator, based in Orange County, California. Publications include: The Petigru Review, Willawaw Journal, Parentheses Journal, and others. Schalk serves as a writer and reviewer for Aji Magazine. She is the author of (quiet, space), a reflective journal that combines her visual art and poetry.
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