Grief is a sound, is a song, or a sigh
a sob somewhere high and here’s
how I know it:
a cat hair on vinyl—the album long
over, the cat died of cancer, the
When elephants listen to tapes of
dead voices–companions’ ghost
noises–they search for the missing.
Their trunks are seen flailing and
scooping the ground, their ears flap
around as they search for the loved one.
Tapes of the songs you would sing
in the old days, vague words like
love always…but memory fails you.
Your ex-partners’ voices will never
quite leave you, their tone says
believe you; but someone was lying.
Sound is a force like a push out
the door or a knock to the floor
wailing in sorrow,
sound is a song that can lift you to
dance or to take a big chance until
That is why a baby’s cry
can drive a parent crazy: the sound,
the sound the sound the sound like
the scream at the birth of the world.