Field as Auditorium

You say my messages did not get through

What sound do messages make as they
lose themselves in the ether

glissando diminuendo

What is the sound of my lost language
I hear a lilt and dive, music only

yr hen iaith fy nhadau

a few passwords clicking from the keys
If I had said the things I wish now

that I had said, what would have been

the tone of her voice in answer
What did her smile sound like

I don’t remember, she is so quiet

in her photograph, black and white, gazing off
What is the sound of a leaf falling

What kind of ear could hear it

as it shivers the air and slides down the wind
tremulo and thrum, pick-pick

the same as the grass growing but in reverse

What was the last call of the last ivory-billed woodpecker
over the ordinary check-check twitter shrill peep

at dusk the end of November

First published in Triggerfish Critical Review, no. 24 (2020)

Published by Maura

I was born in Wales and lived there much of my early life, before immigrating to the United States. I have moved up and down the east coast, Florida to New Hampshire, and am finally settled in North Carolina, where I work as an editor and translator. I still travel, when I can, and meantime work on various local civic and arts initiatives.

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