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.