- Jan Avellana
I Listened to Myself

And heard the birds
I heard my a Daddy calling my name once more,
“Jan-Jan!” he bellowed, and laughed in a roar.
I heard the sound
of my newborn baby screaming for milk
and my body replied with weeping nipples,
drenching my new silk shirt.
I listened to myself
And heard the boys at 5 and 7,
one on the toilet,
one at the bathroom door,
doing dialogue from the movie Up.
I heard the girl inside me say
"It’s still not too late to say all the things you came here to say."
but she also said, "Hurry it up."
I listened to myself
and gave a nod to the low growl
of that old black dog Shadow,
who has followed me all of my days and insomnia filled nights,
and I heard him say,
“I am your protector,
your pocket full of sorrow,
the place where it’s safe to store wishes for another day,
the emptiness you can hide yourself inside
when it gets too scary in the light,
I am your pulled hem,
reminding you
of you."
I listened to myself,
and heard the steady breath of my husband,
I heard my life sing—
even the sad parts that usually only sob,
had a few giggles to give
when I listened to myself.