The drone of night rings in the throats of cicadas, singing the day to sleep, causes my tinnitus to kick in calm as it may be it disturbs every nerve in my inner ear, breaking the silence I wanted to murder earlier in the day— dusk, night, threatening me to end this pause of bereavement. I witness the sun escaping a break in clouds of gray— rain, wind, soaking my thoughts of this ‘figuring’, tinkering, congealing my feelings of loneliness from the shrinking of humanity, from the vacuous longings for conversations— connections to what I once knew. I drone on like cicadas in ritualistic humming, unwinding the tape of all the information that led me here, now wondering— how to feel alive, erasing, meditating as the dark creeps in and around and beneath my feet.
©Jay Mora-Shihadeh
Photo by Benoit Gauzere on Unsplash
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