By J.J. Tindall
THE WORD LISTEN
I am the word listen.
I hear the river
And I hear the expressway.
Neither is ever empty.
The river is never still,
The expressway never silent
(“The river and the highway”
Has a pleasing rhythm
But “the highway” is pastoral.
The expressway, as I need it
To be here, is urbane).
Of course the river
Is also the expressway
Between the living
And the dead,
It is the thief of life.
Stoic as a tree,
I listen to the river.
Silent as a stone
I hear the expressway.
The river is grief
And the expressway, a thief.
Neither ever empty,
Silent or still.
The river is grief:
Organic, omnipresent, eternal.
The expressway is a thief:
Hand-hewn, intermittent, temporal.
I am the word “listen”
And I am the world.
The expressway roars
And the river whirls.
I am the whirled,
Glistening with tears.
I am a swirl
Of fever dreams and fears.
I am the word. Listen
To the music
Of the overwhelming world.
Listen to the teardrops glisten.
I am the world,
Listening.
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J.J. Tindall is the Beachwood’s poet-in-residence. He welcomes your comments. Chicagoetry is an exclusive Beachwood collection-in-progress.
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More Tindall:
* Chicagoetry: The Book
* Ready To Rock: The Music
* Kindled Tindall: The Novel
Posted on January 30, 2013