More Poem by Cheryl Lynn Moyer Peele

That deaf, dumb, partially blind girl
still crawls around on her knees,

talking to angels in the cracks
of the classroom's concrete walls.

Her curly hair is twisted into bread ties.
Her black skin is chapped white.

Thirteen years she's screamed into
the emptiness that surrounds her.

The gold stocks rocket, the job market
crashes, another hurricane pivots

towards the southern hemisphere.
After hundreds of words I've signed
into her open palms, understanding
by tapping her fingertips together,

she demands 'More' and 'More' again.
'Yes, ' I reply. And now the world begins.