Forgotten by: Sara Espindola, Archival Ink Jet Print, 2018
Not the intimate sobs that resounded through halls
You avoided.
Not the hushed hiccups curled under arms
You kept company
Not the hollow tears conjured for attention
You believed.
It is neither shy, nor patient, nor polite.
Have you ever heard someone really cry?
Watching someone drown?
They scream; the violent scraping rattles against your ears,
Erasing all safety from the room.
They fall to their knees; the walls narrow bending reality
The sight of murmurations burns away.
They babble in prayer; the air is tainted in a film of tar,
A pain forms in the back of your throat.
Between breaths, they wail louder and weaker,
And—you are useless,
Left to silently watch as person
Begs their body from becoming yarn.
Then as all is drained and sound is sin,
You share the same language.
You watch as they carefully try to knit together
The person they once were.
Pass many nights: many years,
Open your eyes; the noise will never go away.
You coo over and over:
Yes, I hear you.