I am Echo now

Yet he still does not understand


And, exhausted, I say

“I know when I’m not making sense,

But this is not one of those times”


And he replies,

“If you know you’re not making sense

Don’t be angry,”


And I say the same again, then again

Strangling octaves as I tense

At the same, exact reply

And his glazed eyes,


I am echoing why I am echoing

While I am echoing how,

Until, yes, what was false

At first becomes undeniable

As I do lose what I was saying

And my voice becomes a shrill bell,

Grating and hollow and loud,


Once I had a voice,

But I am Echo now.


Antonia Sara Zenkevitch



  1. Cubby says:

    This is exactly how it feels like to be a broken record. You describe the frustration and helplessness perfectly.

    1. antoniazen says:

      thank-you, the poem was a way of regaining my voice and owning it 🙂

      1. Cubby says:

        I am glad you regained it because you have a beautiful voice. 🙂

      2. antoniazen says:

        thank-you 🙂 🙂

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