I cannot hear myself

“Let’s go out tonight.” The whoosh of digital wind

chimes have hardly finished sounding from

my iPhone’s speaker before the dot-dot-dot of 

your “Yes!” enters the tiny screen held 

in my hands. Better it were a small bird, that is

how I’m feeling these days. You know it without need 

for explicitness, and soon you are

at my door. Soon we are

in the uber making small talk with a man

neither of us will ever see again, his face 

only a sliver in the rear view mirror. His voice

already gone from memory the moment

we leave the car. His will not be the only one

forgotten on this night. You won’t let me say

his name. I could say that

this poem is about friendship, but

it is more and also less. Why

do we choose this place?

Why here? Where your breath and voice fades

into a bad remix. Your face becomes a blur

among the bodies, the scent of your perfume

mingles with sweat.

I cannot hear you,

cannot hear myself. Maybe

this is the reason. 

I could write a poem about reasons, but 

I’m dancing instead.

My friend Tannis dancing at the Rockette nightclub in Montréal, July 2022

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