Text

the men outside
talked in low voices,
catching on the word
coat. they glanced
in where i clutched green
cloth between deadlocked
fingers and i could see
their heads nod.
i couldn't tell if in agreement
but already the murmur
from the water bottles
had reached new levels,
pressing one to my ear
until my flesh felt frosted and i
could hear music go
on and on within.

a winter before i had stumbled
out in sleep stained black
jackets, not even a murmur.
i had not bothered looking into
the empty eyes of the evening crowd,
the don't-give-a-fuck slant
of my shoulders did not
invite whispers that were
for my ears only.
cindy from workshop told
the girl who sat next to
her polite lies, just a
little bit of work on the
last stanza is needed,
while we laughed secrets
about workshop on the
way to the bar.

head bent over morgaine's
plight, i listened to the
screaming of my thoughts -
yes, i'm lying - over
the backdrop of a non-existent
top 40s station. if i pressed
my ear to the door the volume
did not raise, only the drip
of the leaky faucet accompanying
the voices of unintelligible men
in a room where only women slept.

the woman with the food caught
between her teeth asked me if
i was hearing voices. i said no,
only my own thought that spoke to
me when nobody else would. they
spoke quietly. or when cat power
told me in a song she never wrote
to take more pills and even more.
until i was laughing and swallowing
bitter capsules to her voice.

on the way to the hospital
there was no sound,
i forgot how to hear.