Listening to Sunday Rain

*Originally published on my Wordpress blog 06.05.2022

Sunday morning dawn
Cold under the covers
Wanting to listen.

I listen to the rain
And hear the sharp sting
Of needles on my skin.

I listen to a familiar voice
Repeating “breathe, just breathe”
And hear my lungs respond.

I listen to the pounding in my head
Thoughts and fears demanding freedom
And the walls echoing their alarm.

I listen for some god to say
You’re okay and they don't
Or I can't hear  them.

I listen to their absence
Sounding like a crack in my chest
An ache so deep
That it makes me invisible.

I listen to the roar of my past lives
Running away,
Angry at being dismissed.

I listen to my breathing
And hear an emptiness
Begging to be filled.

I listen to my partner turn away
Lean as far as he can
to the other side of the bed.

I listen to my future
Greeting my present.
Or is it the present
Nodding to the future?
They really aren't speaking
Or I can't hear them anyway. 

I listen for what is:
The buried lament of loneliness,
The heavy roar of regret,
The casket lid clicking into place,
The explosion of blue orange flame.

I listen to the crows outside in the rain
Crows being crows
Watching their territory,
Tracking down breakfast.

I listen to the crowded voices of the past
All talking at once,
all the crying, the laughter, the anger
the stillness, the wonder.
A great cacophony
becoming more and more quiet.

I listen to the life force
Saying shush,
A little old lady whispering hush.

I listen to my own denial,
Soft and muffled screams
Growing into fierce and strong truth.

I listen to echos of past screams
And wonder what is the point.
What is the point?

Stillness.
I keep listening. 

Baby Liv cries.  She wants to be heard,
to be touched, to be taken in fully.
To be safe, to be loved. 

I hear the ocean.
How is that possible?
Oceans can’t be heard from ten miles away.

I hear the magic and the mystery,
and the murmur of what if,
The sigh of the unknown.

I hear gratitude replying to
the kiss of hope,
the giggle of surprise.

I listen to the rain stabbing the air
and wonder what the sun sounds like.
What does she say? How does she sound?

I listen to a memory of the sun.
Sounding like creek water over shiny rocks
gentle soft sounds of water jewels
singing as they dance.

Alive and aware
Listening not for what was
or what will be. 
Simply listening for now.