Zebra Seeking Spoons

She opens her mouth

and nothing comes out—

not even the whisper of air

that might betray her longing to speak.

Her throat holds the memory

of the moment it shut itself down,

locking words behind bone and silence.

People ask questions.

She smiles, or nods,

or lets her eyes wander away.

They think she is shy,

or stubborn.

But the truth is heavier—

her voice lives in a place

she cannot reach without trembling.

Sometimes, at night,

she feels the echo of it,

a sound pressed deep into her chest,

aching like a bird

beating its wings

against glass.

And she wonders

if one day

the cage will break,

if sound will spill

like light through a cracked door,

and her voice, fragile but alive,

will return to her.