Those who heard it reported a tingling
in the earlobe, spiraling deeper, like a coin
dropped into a mall funnel,
a warmth which spread into an awareness
of the bones inside, the ossicles
whose names they never learned
but could now trace like the splayed fingers of a hand—
stapes, incus, malleus—
and stepping back, say, Touched,
talking not of tympanic membrane,
which is, strictly speaking, always
touched, always humming a dirge or a hymn, some news
of the world; no, Touched, as in a tinge
of madness, silence
louder than the voices that would break it,
but not a silence, a tart burst
as of citrus in the temple, a faraway door swinging
open, and what beyond it but the suggestion
of moonlight, impossible
to comprehend (to touch), threaded through
the listener as a memory is threaded through
the eye of the moment and bends back again,
as we all bend back, inevitably bowled over
by the sheer unworldliness of the world.
Joshua Zeitler is a queer, nonbinary writer based in rural Michigan. They are the author of the chapbook Bliss Road (Seven Kitchens Press, 2025), and their work has appeared or is forthcoming in Ploughshares, Foglifter, HAD, Shō, and elsewhere.

Leave a comment