Din of Deafness
The empty hallway stretches between them, filled with echoes.
He arches his neck, creases his brow, as though that would make sense
of the meaningless sounds bouncing from the walls.
She strains to make him understand, her hopeless cries
turn shrill and the hallway lengthens, resounding
with pieces of syllables, howling vowels, no consonants.
He shrugs in anger, as if it were her fault he cannot hear,
then retreats into isolation; she withdraws into her shell.
Two lonely crustaceans divided by silence.
About the Poet
Ellen Dooling Reynard spent her childhood on a cattle ranch in Jackson, Montana. Raised on myths and fairy tales, the sense of wonder has never left her. A one-time editor of Parabola Magazine, and co-editor of A Lively Oracle: A Centennial Celebration of P.L. Travers, Creator of Mary Poppins (Paul Brunton Philosophic Foundation, 1999), she is now retired and lives in Nevada City, California where she writes fiction and poetry.