Sometimes,
When the sky is dark, clouded
I can’t make out the voice in my head
From the buzz crickets outside,
I put my hand to my chest
Listening to my heart.
The repeating thump, thump, thump,
Over and over.
The fascinating pressure it creates
Barely lifts my palm.
I think of my mother.
Her warm deep breaths and steady heartbeat
Mixing with her sweet perfume.
I remember when I was small,
Small enough to be wrapped completely in her arm
And when my head was pressed against her chest,
I would compare the speed of our heart beats
Pressing my ear to her heart and counting the thumps.
Then comparing it to mine.
I would wonder why they could never match,
Why they were always off beat.
If I wasn’t absorbed by the buzzing
I would take deep breaths
Somehow force my heart to match hers,
But it never would.
And I would never ask why,
Not yet aware of how consuming my curiosity could be.
The buzzing would eventually return,
Slowly seeping in from the sides of my vision,
Flickering tv static creeping in to cover my eyes.
One day a few years ago,
Quite possibly on a dark, clouded day,
I gave up trying to match my heart to her’s.
But sometimes, on nights where the buzzing roars
And sleep has been warded off,
I find myself again trying to slow my heart down,
Remembering the soothing rhyme her heart would always have
When I was wrapped in her arms.
And if on that night I’m especially attuned to the sound,
And my hands are steady,
The buzzing will cease
And the sound of the over lapping beats
With one real
The other a memory
Will wrap around me,
Tightly embracing my bones,
Dripping onto my soul.
