The cool breeze drifts in from the Pacific Ocean through the banana plant leaves. Shadows dance across the pastel pallet of the bedspread; the charcoal nude woman looks over her shoulder. Jesus ... [+]
[ a poem about being hard of hearing ]
i cannot hear the ticking of clocks.
i cannot hear leaves as they blow
or tires on the road.
i am a stranger to hearing your whispers
and talking on the phone.
i cannot hear the ceiling fan
or water dripping.
i cannot hear the sharp edges of your words.
they fade away
and i am forced to guess at the blurry shapes left.
i cannot hear the ticking of clocks.
i cannot hear leaves as they blow
or tires on the road.
i am a stranger to hearing your whispers
and talking on the phone.
i cannot hear the ceiling fan
or water dripping.
i cannot hear the sharp edges of your words.
they fade away
and i am forced to guess at the blurry shapes left.