I’m Listening

I am listening

It’s just that the sound has rushed through my head and turned off my brain

The crushing, crashing fog

(My hands are cold)

There are sparks at the edges of my vision, can you see?

A wave washes through the space

between the shell of my ear and the hollow in the back of my throat.

Once there were words

Now brushed clean away

I taste salt.

(My hands are cold)

The sun singes through my jaw and down my chest

Angry blood and memory

Do you feel it?

There is a silence perched on the bridge of my nose

It peers at me

Strange thing

I am not here behind the eyes

I slipped down long ago into a crack left wide

on the kitchen floor.

There is a bread tag under the stove

I can’t hear you.

My hands are cold.