Echo, or Deaf

blurs of yellow light extend horizontally from street lamps into twilight
light painting photography
Photo by Mahdi Bafande on

My own footsteps tap-top bongos in my skull

on the sidewalk my silicone soles roll

in the snow, my shoes seem to slosh through shallow shoals–

these feet mime an earthquake of music

and the symphony stretches, shivering, across my whole surface,

my breath

my bite

my beating blood;

I scream with sound to the whole world.

Don’t make a peep,

or the whole audience will stare,

don’t say a word

or the microphone will screech.

Yes, I literally hear my footsteps

(inside, outside, barefoot, shod)

and I think about them often.

I had a mind-blown moment

finding out not everybody does that–

is it just me, then,

that wilts at the idea of screaming?

That thinks anyone in a mile-radius can hear a shouted whisper?

Haha, it’s mind-blowing, no one around will judge you

because they can’t actually hear you.



Check out this short story about an unreliable fish

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4 thoughts on “Echo, or Deaf

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