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ALICE MOORE
Breaking Silence My therapist suggested I talk differently to my mother. Driving home, it occurred to me I could tell the truth more often. You know, like expressing my opinion or daring to agree that she could have done it better. When I think of speaking little truths to my mother, it feels as if all the careful statements I prepared will give way to ravening hordes of words bearing down to loot, rape and pillage. Speaking out after 42 years of silence has the sonic boom of spring ice breaking or the quiet hiss of a sun-warmed rock. But the rock and the ice floes are in my throat and the truth must work its way past these obstructions. What would my voice say, gushing down like snow melt on unsuspecting rivers? Alice Moore was raised in the Canadian Maritimes on ice, wind, fog and books. Migrating south after college, she has settled in Maryland where she lives on a small farm with her partner and assorted wild and domestic creatures. She is a teacher, currently working with remedial reading students, other teachers and horses. She has been writing poetry since she was six. |
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