The sounds of this town are a requiem,
& you hear it in the way woven
fiber beats the summer air dead.
For some, you think not of the
history behind the stitching of
your favorite bed sheets but,
instead, of the time needed for
all the water to leave—
evaporate away—into thick
air, with the ghosts you fail to
see. Yet, when another fabric is
challenged, history is all to
what you spare a thought:
If we remove the memory,
we are doomed to repeat it.
To that, not one has sense
enough to ask why sound is
sound only when you’re there
to hear it. Ignorance has multiple
meanings, after all. To which
definition you ascribe yourself
says whether you hang your
bed sheets for everyone to see,
or whether church bell alarms
keep you awake deep into night.
Benjamin Rozzi, 23, earned his Bachelor of Arts degree in English from Washington & Jefferson College. His poetry appears in or is forthcoming from One Sentence Poems, formercactus, and Moonchild Magazine, among other venues. Benjamin is currently the Managing Editor for 1932 Quarterly, and has been named a future Guest Editor for Poets Resist! (Glass Poetry Press). He can be found on Twitter (@_benjaminrozzi).
