In the listening room
authenticity & impenetrability exist simultaneously
we take turns at knowability sans calamity or consequence
immeasurable silent applause erupts regularly
we are all here with our noise-cancelling headphones around our necks
out the windows: minimal traffic, a small herd of goats eating excess underbrush
inside the room: ghosts retrieved from an endless place of waiting—
like a doctor’s office, only worse & there is no diagnosis
& in the listening room there is so much patience, too
so much wanting to know, but not asking
so much respecting the opacity of the other
there is shushing of wind in the trees carrying through half-open windows
there is silence but also conflicting definitions of time around how long it lasts
or time is epiphanous, or both
& epiphanous in this case is “offering surprising discoveries”
meaning: we are spiritually receptive to your story
as long as it turns an unexpected corner
the listening room is a lighthouse & we are ships
guided in past the breakwater
we want you to stay alive
the listening room is an open suitcase
or an ancestral home with furniture covered in plastic
& in the summer our thighs stick & someone asks
if we can just sit on the goddamn couch—its fabric skin
in the listening room we will carry you over the obstacle
back to navigable waters
we are practicing portaging
the obstacle can be anything
we eschew the tyranny of relentless positivity
we drink a lot of seltzer
the room itself becomes sacred through neural patterning
even when we are all unique & inexplicable
in the listening room, we see you
Source: Poetry (December 2024)