hearing things
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my hearing, as though i forever have a shawl wrapped around my head, twisted in the black of my hair and ballooning behind me, a translucent bit of fabric like the picket of fences.
my hearing, as though through the thick cold water of northeastern lakes, greeny browny and ice.
my hearing, under constant threat of attack, has curled in on itself, sleeping lazily.
the deep belly fright of drum broken through. my ear that has been sewn off and on again, twice, in attempts to reach the perforated gauze of my eardrum. trapdoor.
and after countless rounds of anesthesia, how afraid am i of the darkness?
my hearing, as though moving through one of the lower layers in a terrarium model of the earth’s sedimentary layers. my hearing, abandoning me to the deeper silt. taphophobia. fear of being buried alive.
and when outside with my lover, my hearing reveals to me sounds displaced and fragmented, coming as if from no direction, headless, bodiless floating stirrups of noise without context for existence. we sit on the back porch, and she explains these sounds to me, coming from two yards across the way.
and i am the atheist, terrified of ghosts, running spritely through dark hallways in my lover’s home.
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