Jody's Notes
I read this poem once, at a small gathering somewhere. And someone had an interesting response. We talked for a while, and then something she said made me realize she thought I was an orphan. That my parents had died when I was young (or something like that). And I had to confess that no, it wasn't like that. That I had parents. Officially, anyway. And then she told me that she had been an orphan. And that it had seemed, for a moment, that she had met someone similar, a kindred spirit. Maybe you have, I told her. But I don't think she believed me.
I reprinted this poem in The Lust for Blueprints.
Only rarely does a shell
look like an ear, and usually
only to a child. When I was
that way, I’d squat for hours
fondling my small pile of seabones,
and telling them whatever
I happened to know.
I practiced dialogue where I could,
in caves, or with the occasional animal
tame enough to reciprocate. I am
older now and perhaps I sound cynical
when I feel my ears, and
notice how stiff they are. Rumor
has it that our ears could move once
and perhaps I have a memory or two
of something like that. But what
muscle was there is gone now, and I
can only wonder if it’s a voice
when something manages to penetrate.
© 1995, 2001 Jody Azzouni