July 19, 2011
Donna C. Henderson
TO TINNITUS
You could be crickets or midges,
whine of the wires inside the walls,
transmissions from distant stars, share
I can hear of the music of the spheres,
high frequency keen of a cathode-ray T.V.
Whatever you are, the soundtrack of my inner
existence consists of your high-pitched hiss;
while everything changes, unchangingly
you persist.
In the presence of humming appliances
(fridge in the kitchen, white noise machine
set on high in my waiting room)
you disappear awhile into the midst of these—
always with silence you slink back in.
Each day I wish you away,
and you answer—
not what I wanted to hear, its sound.
Maybe you are angels electric with witness,
lifting all sorrow that can’t be borne,
holding it slightly aloft as song?
The angels can’t save us from pain,
nor can they turn away—
Sorrow of sentience spread over centuries,
wouldn’t it sound like this high, thin wail?
If so, it is meaningful, yes, when I hear you
(I’m wrestling for a blessing here),
but yours doubles my trouble:
when listening for a living is what I do,
you’re what I listen beside, and through—
patients leave with their burdens
and I’m left with mine, with you.
—from Rattle #34, Winter 2010
Tribute to Mental Health Professionals
Releasing in December, 2010, Rattle #34 turns its attention to another intimate vocation, spotlighting the poetry of 26 mental health professionals. These psychiatrists, psychologists, therapists, counselors, and case-workers dive inside the mind daily and come home soggy with the muck of dreams. Many of them write about their careers, but the scope is broad, and all of their poems are informed by years of training and unique insights on the human soul. The section is highlighted throughout by the stunning abstract portraiture of art therapist Mia Barkan Clarke. As psychoanalyst Forrest Hamer writes, “so much depends on what’s under.”