Have You Ever Missed Someone's Voice? A poem by Andrea Fekete
Have you ever missed a voice, one you knew as intimately as the sound of your own breathing in the cold?
What torture for those of us gifted a close ear for music, most especially.
Why must I forget language sometimes? Staring at a spoon, for example, naming it fork to the gentle chuckles of dinner guests
while, tragically, knowing by heart the voice of someone who has died
or someone else who feels just as gone.
Have you ever missed the voice of someone you loved more deeply than yourself
someone absent due to blameless misfortune or deliberate cruelty?
Have you ever found listening to the professor's lecture the neighbor's good morning the officer's question
Watching their mouths speak, recognizing the words but unable to really hear as your heart
your sharp ear intrudes recreating the voice you miss in your mind
each vowel every consonant every intonation in every syllable
every hard 'r' or soft 's'.
I can hear how every word I know in the English language would sound in his mouth between his teeth.
Why must I also recall, deftly, the timbre of every small noise he made that said Me too I'm sorry It'll be all right You look gorgeous I adore you
instead of storing more practical things like where is north or what is 35 divided by 4?
The Spanish word for restroom. Where I put my keys or how to forget a voice I possibly may have loved above all other sounds.