My husband and I are new to a small town. People are talking.
I watch the world pass me by through the window.
I’m afraid to walk alone yet I can’t stay inside forever.
I would rather hide. I decide to try to wave.
I lift my hand and drop it before anyone notices.
How am I going to fit in when I am too scared to go out?
They say my voice is like a child’s and that I’m as quiet
as a church mouse.
I am sitting on the front porch
in a chair that is like a hug. My cats are sprawled out nearby.
I struggle to wave as a neighbor passes in a red truck.
Being vulnerable is my least favorite thing.
Across the street, the cat hater is mowing her lawn.
I have seen her scare the gray cat away. I read books to pass the time by,
peering over the top to watch. I’m too far away to eavesdrop.
Unlike my husband, I am not the first one to talk.
They say my voice is like a child’s and that I’m as quiet
as a church mouse.
I have my notebook in my lap. I might go for a walk later.
Birds and owls fill my ears. For the first time I am relaxed.
The next door neighbor gave my husband cookies. He said she is a homebody like me.
I am writing poems inspired by prompts. I waved to two people today and I am feeling pumped.
In writing, my voice is clear and strong. I’d rather write than speak.
Here, is where you can hear me.
They say my voice is like a child’s and that I’m as quiet
as a church mouse.