Poetry
Sound Interrupted
by Siobhan Farrell
(Hyperacusis – severe sensitivity to moderate sound)
Sometimes this hush feels like clear water
white linen draped
over me, a pause
in intimate conversation.
moments waiting
for the next train to arrive.
Then there is the dark side of silence.
Stripped, four walls muzzle my tongue
spit my thoughts into the air.
My book lies flat because
nothing is happening.
once roughened by sand,
now slippery smooth.
A tomb, at least a boring companion,
Shouts, car horns, beeps in every store,
revving motorcycles
suck out my last breath of air.
Another quiet dinner alone,
no dancing, no verbal jousts, clink of glasses,
conversations about nothing at all.
We shouldn’t add to the orgy of noise
from city streets, from screaming guitars.
Sound should be music,
silence a long breath
you hold as long as you want
before the next breath.
About the Author
Siobhan Farrell lives in Thunder Bay, Ontario, Canada on the north shore of Lake Superior. Her writing has been published in NOWW Magazine, Dark Winter Literary Magazine, the Prairie Journal of Canadian Literature, The Walleye, LAIR (Lakehead Arts Integrated Research Gallery), and other journals. She has also recently published a Chapbook titled Catching the Moon. She likes to infuse her writing with Wabi Sabi, finding beauty in imperfection.
 Sometimes this hush feels like clear water white linen draped over me, a pause in intimate conversation. moments waiting for the next train to arrive. Then there is the dark side of silence. Stripped, four walls muzzle my tongue spit my thoughts into the air. […])
