Sound Proof Room
Nov 13 2007


They say there is no such thing
as total silence.

Even in a padded chamber
sealed-off from the world.
You begin to hear the swoosh
of hot red blood
filling your ears.
And stiff joints creaking
as you squirm on the hard wooden seat.
And soon even your eyelids
make noise when they blink,
and thoughts ricochet around your brain
crackling
like live wires spewing sparks.

Even in outer space
where no one can hear you screaming,
hurtling through the void with 2 hours of air left:
the stiff pneumatic suit
filled with terrible sound,
as every rasping breath counts down.
You are a bright white speck
barely visible on a moonless night,
quickly passing from sight.




When the phone rang
it jerked my head back, startled,
and I was suddenly aware of deep dense silence
broken,
and the hush that hangs in the air
expectantly
in the space between the rings;
which come insistent
impatient
almost painful,
jangling me from the luxurious eternity of thought.
My hand hovers over the phone,
which refuses to stop;
a wrong number
or selling something, I hope.
Because everything can change in an instant.
And at some point, in every life
it does.

Then the silence stretching unnaturally
as I wait for the ring that never comes,
wondering who, or what, it was.
And it’s in the silence
when my heart races,
I can hear the blood rush.