I have swallowed my voice for 355 days, during which time I swept and dusted, mopped, sewed, cooked, and bore one son. In my silence, I heard the rain fall on the wooden rafters and pressed my finger against the glass of the window to follow a spider on the other side as she wove each thread in her web. Her web hung under the eaves of our window facing the pond. It was there for three or four months, when one day I woke and put on my apron and found she and her nest were gone. The boy who brought our daily milk struck our window with a stick after you berated and boxed his ears for bringing a sour bottle. The crack is still there. When I stare at it too long, I can feel the fissure reflected in my iris. It runs deep and deeper, and when I close my eyes, I can hear the shattering…
RED GLADIOLA 
This is so lovely. A little gem. Every line runs original and true.
Good to read your words again..
I searched my own blog for a like or two from you, perhaps years ago, because I remembered reading your writing and feeling my heart stir with knowing. I had to find you to follow, and I’m grateful I did. Still, most beautiful writing. Thank you for sharing…