born to hum once in the spring of my 24th year i had nothing to say. with a dangling promise and a terrible past i threw all the words away. we were born to hum. you were the last in my 24th year to make a demand of my voice. i tickled your ear and i laughed in your face and i gave you my choice. we were born to hum. it's a gradual running, a kind of release that's settled on my face. once in awhile i complain to myself, nothing gets done! nothing's in place! but i would rather hum. i would rather hum. © 2003 Erin McKeown