Moved Away
"Hear that?"
At the bottom of Sheepwash Hill,
Mom lifts her cell phone.
"The peepers. Can't you hear them?"
For seven generations we shared these songs
in timber land near Crooked Creek.
I press hot plastic between palm and ear.
Through speaker's rasp, I strain to discern
the singing snore, ascending criiick,
throbbing purr a'thruming . . .
so distant, and maybe only
static.
Little wonder our newborns crave
maternal heartbeats against their apricot ears--
being selved so suddenly outside
of most beloved sound.
For the reader--
What sounds have shaped your experiences? Do you still hear those sounds in your everyday life, or have you--or they--moved? How does proximity to beloved places and/or people affect you? How have you navigated times of changing connections?
I'd love to hear your thoughts if you want to share them in the comments. If you have work of your own that connects to these ideas, feel free to post a link. Poems and prose are both welcome!
At the bottom of Sheepwash Hill,
Mom lifts her cell phone.
"The peepers. Can't you hear them?"
For seven generations we shared these songs
in timber land near Crooked Creek.
I press hot plastic between palm and ear.
Through speaker's rasp, I strain to discern
the singing snore, ascending criiick,
throbbing purr a'thruming . . .
so distant, and maybe only
static.
Little wonder our newborns crave
maternal heartbeats against their apricot ears--
being selved so suddenly outside
of most beloved sound.
For the reader--
What sounds have shaped your experiences? Do you still hear those sounds in your everyday life, or have you--or they--moved? How does proximity to beloved places and/or people affect you? How have you navigated times of changing connections?
I'd love to hear your thoughts if you want to share them in the comments. If you have work of your own that connects to these ideas, feel free to post a link. Poems and prose are both welcome!
There was a bird at school today whose call spoke this way. The echoes left me wondering: was it merely a stirring of a memory from when I first came to India? Or did it belong to those earlier enchanted days that are a exist now only as memories shot through with senses of sights, smells and sounds that speak tantalizingly of a fleeting home.
ReplyDeleteThanks for sharing. It is lovely
Thanks, Elizabeth! I think sounds that touch us deeply often hearken back to something from childhood, maybe even from before we had many words ourselves. Isn't it strange to feel something so deep welling up, and to wonder what it means? You describe the mystery of it beautifully.
DeleteElena, hello!
ReplyDeleteI love the whole poem but the ending especially!
I'll try to answer your questions: '80s pop music has shaped my experience; I still get "excited" and feel young when I hear it. I like the sound of coffee brewing. And I respond to voices in a very profound way: speaking human voices, famous ones like those of St John Paul II or Audrey Hepburn; not-so-famous ones, like my buddy Sam's or my friend Lisa's. As for beloved places, I'm fortunate now to be living in one! I'm still nostalgic for the beloved place of the monastery at Spencer, and I hope to visit there again someday (on the "bucket list," as they say!).
Thanks, Tom! I'm so glad you are currently in a beloved place! I think Milwaukee can become one of those for me, eventually. Voices--what a neat thing to be attuned to. I didn't grow up with pop music of any kind, but songs from the religious cassette tapes we listened to at bedtime still give me a very peculiar kind of feeling. I do hope you make it back to the monastery at Spencer!
Delete