the sound of listening

a poem by f. f. kahani

be still in a time of genocide and you’ll
hear the same sounds of life that
birth those hollow sounds of death

the sounds of my phone
to my mind, stepping in barefoot,
uninvited, while the clicking sound of me
picking at my nails, listening to
a wheezing speaker at a press conference

i remember the silence after we released
the dragons and the sounds of airplanes in air
of clouds whispering goodbye
of a thousand weighted corpses
listening as their half-sewn graves erupt
of veterans screaming at their leaders

of breathing that turns to sleep
of a coughing, sickly baby and the buzz
of the ac in the car making its way through
the blistering desert and the sounds
of the killed saving up for peace and

of a notification on my phone
of the journalist’s keyboard
of their sips as they drink water
after the dusty rubble settles on their face
of hearts beating beating
beating each other bleating into space
the sound of listening

an empty bottle hitting the carpet
brakes screeching
gravel and dog toys
cheers and whoops and prayer and panting
me canceling phone calls because
i’m howling into the bowels of my heart
the sound of listening

of my mother crying into the phone
of my friend reading her poems out loud
of boys chasing each other
of my cat meowing for his loneliness

glistening sounds that twinkle
in the presence of an ear, of a mind
who is watching the path ahead
where the ashy filaments of buildings
expose a man sitting near a stuffed animal
the sound of listening

the silence within
the silence without
the silence with no one
the silence against us all

the sound of peace
is the sound of listening

---

f. f. kahani is a nomadic wordslut who lives on the open road. Even though empty highways are their siren, their true home lies in the secret relationship between words. Their work has been published by Stone of Madness Press and Candlewick Press. You can follow them @wondrlustr.