Cuckoo
There is comfort in sounds:
the sensation of next door’s washing, spinning; loud and bitter arguments filtering through heating vents;
warning beeps on rubbish trucks backing into culdesacs, wintering summer’s tenements and tin-bin clanking detritus singing communities’ symphonies;
whispers, pianissimo, drifting winds’ secrets shed in rustling papered autumn leaves,
and birds re-chorusing territories,
make hearing a synecdoche for being.
Tacet, unobserved, the cuckoo un-nests eggs, to crack, and conducts the caesura:
flattening air bourn harmonies with its two tone drone;
foreshadowing incantations to spring,
always already an echo;
ringing life and death in hearing’s Being,
now synecdoche for all earth’s living.
In response to Covid 2020-2021 in recognition that all news, good and bad, has been delivered and received in isolation.
No Man is an Island (John Donne)
Cherry Coombe 7 March 2021
Inspired by #GraysonsArtClub
Cherry Coombe 