to hear

after I lost my voice

I started listening

to the upstairs neighbor's woody tenor

a deep echo under water

and the jazzy raspy pitch of the lady at the bar

that sweetly chirping flute- small children in the park

and on the crowded subway car

(yet in such solitary stifle)

I prayed that people speak!

I longed to know the texture of so many strangers' souls

from the way their words dripped, oozed, burst~

escaped as breathy whispers in the cold

but behind my desperate thirst,

the strange and sorry truth

that in exchange for this new faculty

(oh, suddenly to hear!)

the fiat- to be mute

At the Carnival

Big fake eyelashes

up close like spider legs

curled and glued

and forced in place

a scavenging seagull in the distance

my grief, strung on telephone wires

my flippant mind
straps me on this Coney Island roller-coaster ride
 Thud- thud- thudding up with
Erratic heartbeat joy

At the top, tipping
gravity compels this urge
to fall

it might hurt
or feel like freedom

but when it’s over
I’ll be back to street level

a rush of blood,
and empty pockets

surface

In a past life I must have been some aquatic entity. Ever since I can remember- say about three years old running naked on the beach, the sound and the smell and the giddy feel of the lapping water on my ankles has stirred me like nothing else. Perhaps it’s some subconscious womb-safety instinct, or even a memory of amoebic evolution, but the sea is my soul-mate. I have always believed that mother earth and father sky are marvels of divine wonder. I am in awe of mighty still mountains, the wild free beasts and watercolor washed sunsets that burn away the day.

Yet, nothing heals me like floating out beyond the waves.

The idea of this tiny fleck of being that is me- suspended on the wet surface of the earth- is enchanting. I breathe slowly and just listen, imagining the wind that blows a visitor from far-off places tirelessly continuing on its antediluvian course.