Tonight's Poet Corner: Sonar
Sonar by Belinda Roddie The echoes in the corridor don't come from voices or from songs. Instead, they all belong to winds and sighs from wordless lullabies. The window opens to reveal a large chorus of hungry birds who have eaten all of the words that have been dropped from balconies. The birds do not come close to shore; instead, they hover over seas of bubbling crude and arguments long scrambled by a hidden hand. And so the beacons light the skies and lead the way to Babylon, where towers lean against each other, their brothers' tongues twisted in knots. So I can see you on the street, and I can see you, heat and all, deliberating over poems that we can read but can't recite.