It's good to hear your voice

Voices in the dark. Voices saying your name. Voices that tell you exactly

who they are and mean it. Voices that cling violent-heavy in the air. A voice

full of clumsy metaphor. A small voice, a voice too close to your own, a voice

like a painting. The voice of the first boy you had a crush on in second grade.

He had diabetes. The voice of the first girl, whose voice had many voices, all of

which you could never hold.  A voice you’ve never heard before. Turn around.

I’m right here. Voices that keep you up at night. Voices that give you their ribs

& ask you to create. Voices orange like summer. Green like forgiveness.

The voice of your mother, asking where you are. What you want for dinner.

Saying I love you for the first time. How you cannot say it back. How you reach

down, cor cordium, & only find a thing shyer, brighter, crueler than love. 

A voice with a cute skirt. A voice like a knife or a lamp. A voice that is also a

heartbeat. A voice that opens the door. Very gently. It’s dusk but the voice

is light. Quiet. Can you hear it? A voice fast like blood. Tender like 

inheritance. A voice for when the metaphor bursts open, when it 

breaks, & the sun is only the sun or its absence. And there is no voice,

just you in the dark of the room, filled with a love you cannot understand.

by KELLY HUI