No One Hears Us

unhinged, even a bag screams,
   handle-jaw aghast at the way life
        can flatten us.

the seam is not where we split, but a place
    wholly unexpected, everything spilling,
        skin pleating into ghosts,

a shadow puppet or blastocyst,
    an elegant crane or an African mask,
        ripped from context.

gusted, we butterfly open, soles
    arching to shoulder blades,
        contortionists under kliegs.

breaking in tenterhook silence, we wait
    for applause that doesn’t come,
        aghast, our handle-jaws unhinged.