I Heard It

February 24, 2008
There was a scream on the bridge.
I heard it, and looked around.
All other beings on the bridge kept going,
distracted by their own destructions.

I laughed. Clearly I was crazy.
I was overworked, tired, and paranoid.
I continued my rambling.

There! I caught the sound again.
I listened for it, watched for the source,
all the while smelling crisp tree leaves in the wind.
That same wind blew my thin brown hair into knots,
and I cursed the brush I’d have to use later.

But my small ears kept listening.

In a moment I would know.
In a moment I would realize that the shrieking, the screaming,

was coming from me.
In a moment I would see that my heart was crying out

for me to hear it.

It was asking why those people didn’t stop,
why their bitterness consumed them,
why they couldn’t go home at night,
why they had no home at all.

Bafflement ate me inside out.
How could these inquiries be kept secret from my consciousness?

My heart kept asking me these questions.

And I found there weren’t any answers I could give.

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