Like a man puzzled at the array of choices in a flower shop
Like the girl unwilling to tie her shoelaces, to be bad
Like a pistachio that will never open
Like a cat who never dies
I want to listen
And for that I need to hear
And for that I need my head
And for that I need to be
And today that is possible
Today I answer the door when the postman arrives
I wash the cup of coffee from early morning
I erase my traces from the bathroom sink
I make the bed, centred with the Turkish cushion
I might even do laundry;
I listen to the loud thumping of clothes churning in the machine
I listen to a woman calling her dog on the street
I listen to the fleeting string of music released by a car
But sometimes I’m deaf
Like the hollow eyes of a horny dog
Like the dried roots of a small cactus
Like the silence of a man caught cheating
Like the screams of a woman caught lying
Like the frozen gaze of a boy everyone singing happy birthday to
But I’m comfortable, knowing
Even closed pistachios can be broken.
Janaury 6, 2017