Jun 30, 2015

On Speaker

Written by David Hernandez

Read by Daniel Hefko

As you walk
to your mammogram appointment
my listening hides inside your purse,
footfalls coming loud from the dashboard,
behind the backseats,
I’m surrounded by
the machinery of you moving forward

cross town.
I’m moving forward, too–
without speaking my odometer says 75,
and the voiceless cars along the highway say
let us hurry, let us cheat the minutes
before the minutes pick us clean.

That crunching–
I’m guessing
you’re trekking over gravel, plateau
or piedmont gravel, creek rock
I cannot tell. Some little stones some river
worried smooth.
If your blood was plugged
to an amplifier, blood as it races

then backtracks, it would sound like this.
And I would not sleep. I would swipe keys,
drive nowhere under the mantra of streetlights,
the wreckage of the universe,
and wonder how
long will you be around, and how long
will I be around to witness you being around.

The air crackles
while my speakers continue
broadcasting your steps, and I recognize that this
rhythmic sound belongs to the ocean–

Bang, hiss. Bang, hiss.
Our hearts always sing it.

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