Abstract
I only ever remember my nightmares. Since the first I can recall, they are propelled by fact that no one can hear me beg, no one can hear my warning. I’m not mute—I refuse to be mute, but a veil is there. The collection I’m working on could be described by Alicia Ostriker’s term—exoskeletal. These poems are both weapon and armor. The only poetry I’m interested in writing is poetry with a presence too large to be denied, poetry that is commanding, poetry that resists. This work is implicit, revolving around the nuclei of trauma that the speaker cannot yet name. It asks over and over: can you hear me? Can you hear me? I am still here.