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lycanthrope
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is the sound of what happens.
The most beautiful sound is the music of what happens.
An infant's howling hunger
Slick shit
In a soggy diaper.
A toddler’s marblemouthed rendition of love
Fights in a distantroom, pledges, grief, stolen lovemaking
The slow droning decline of a medical bed.
Polite conversation.
Jimmy help me.
The ferocious noise of a shaking head.
Like the ocean in your ear.
Hearing the nightsounds of an errant car on a wet street moan past your childhood room’s window through a baby monitor.
A newscaster reads off numbers and gives instructions in an authoritative and practiced friendliness.
The muttered tell of a judge talking through an issue.
The teacher describes first communion as just another little kid party, like a wedding. Hail Mary Full of grace.
The oven door opening, the store-bought whip cream gasp over pumpkin pie.
The marble mouthed toddler is back, Gran is the one who will read a book.
I know how hard you work, I'm sorry. Come to bed, sleep on the couch. Sleep on the floor of your mom's room for all I care. I love you.
The round mouth shape of the word mom.
The parking brake's deployment at the graveside.
The dull thud of a pat on the back. The yelling tears that only happen to you in the mirror.
The jingle of loose change in your pocket.
The morning alarm.
I love you.
Come back to me.
You can't go with her.
The most beautiful sound is the music of what happens. The most beautiful music is the sound of what happens.
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