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A Quarterly Journal
Jeffrey Woodward, Founder & General Editor
Volume 10, Number 2, June 2016

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Doug Norris
Barrington, Rhode Island, USA


Noise

Dad wrote down my first poem: “If you listen carefully, you can hear the wind.” I was seven years old. He and I were walking along Horseneck Beach in Massachusetts. I mentioned the wind. He typed up my words and framed them. I still remember that wind. It wasn’t obvious, like a hurricane or a gale or a gust. To hear it required concentration, an ability to tune into the moment, an awareness of the distant and beyond. I think that’s what impressed him.

Sometimes there is a high-pitched ringing in my ear. Have you ever tried to eat a potato chip quietly? Open a candy wrapper during a piano recital? Stifle laughter in a church pew? We are human. We can’t always control our noise. I run with heavy feet. I snore when I drink too much. The only feeling worse than hearing a mosquito buzz in the dark, is hearing it stop.

mourning dove calling darkness before dawn

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