Sarah Elisabeth Freeman
LOSING YOUR VOICE
There is no wire that connects us across these distances
these days, so when the connection breaks
it's not for faulty wire or crossed line: it's a break
in nothing. When the connection stops (itself, is stopped,
however the condition is come by) your voice is gone, or
your voice goes by degrees, fragments at first, enough for me
to hello hello at, then a crack or the sound of haze
and emptiness where your words used to be.
If the wireless connection breaks, the break is in nothing.
If nothing is broken, why have I lost your voice.
In the vein. The blood ticks
Is a clause
I am where containment is.
Oh the armament and skull,
Held in place
A filling for my stalking shoes
The clock goes stuck.
No end to what the gods have brung:
The east, west, the Canadian
There's an "R" on the radiator. I don't suppose it stands for radiator.
A painting on the wall. Depiction of scenery.
Ferns and trees near the windows, above the tile-lined windows.
Pruned that way carefully. High up, oh leaves.
Segmented goodbye-waving leaves or hello and goodbye but the sky is not
coming down to them.
The sky is a fringe above.
It could be blue more often.
More often I look its way when the sun's in it
and the sun's not in it enough.
Enough is enough—enough is hiding under the shrubbery I suppose or up
under even a neighbor's tree
where I really can't see and won't I then if ever be surprised—
my God it's when the unexpected comes
that we do all we can to embrace it:
won't someone be proud of me then
(won't I be the apple of some eye).