Sorcerer of sound, Eros
whose arrow points directly
into my beloved’s ears,
I adore you.
Minuscule, featherweight, miracle!
You rest so lightly on the flesh of ear canals,
transmit sound in a way utterly beyond me.
You perform your magic so quietly.
No cheering crowds, no minions in the
in the wings. In fact, you do your
meticulous work while camouflaged.
You gather my words.
Instantaneously, convert them
into mysterious codes.
You amplify them, loud as a giant.
Then, you sweep your magic wand,
codes become waves, rush into his ears
pulse through curlicue canals, bang
into a drum, dance through an elaborate
labyrinth of hammer, anvil, stirrup,
end in a snail touched by a special nerve.
Our forty-year conversation continues
at the well-worn oak dining table in Michigan
or under a sprawling Palo Verde in Tucson,
without a “huh” or “what.”
If not for you, our long love affair might have
shattered, not for change of heart, but for
change of hearing. All my sweet nothings turned
to sweet nothing.
Claire Weiner is a poet whose work has been published in After Hours Press, Burningwood Literary Review, Muddy River Poetry Review, and others. In summer of 2022, she took a virtual poetry class through the Hoffman Center, after meeting the instructor at a writing workshop in Michigan, her home state.