Wavelength
Wavelength
This morning I stand with the shrapnel of a mind and
try to map it to meaning, pulse it with life.
The act of a book. Dormant. Desiring. Simply,
I wouldn’t have guessed
nectar sounded like this.
Scraped plastic. Rough and ragged. The
hummingbird’s call more leather than note but
slowed down, a whole world just beyond ear’s
reach. Imagine the chorus, spelled chaos,
cranked up loud, each of us a comic book version
of ourselves: cape billowing, afloat just outside our atmosphere,
finger to drum, heart to bursting,
desperate to cradle it all.
Hi! It’s been a few weeks!
This theme of communication continues to emerge in my poems when I’m not expecting it. Like this poem where vibration is a trans-species device for communion.
Recent studies have shown that plants make sounds outside of the range of what we can hear. The sounds are fascinating. Interestingly enough, the studies also found that they make more sound when stressed as if it were a plea for help or the sounds of the last vivacious cells cracking under pressure. Below is a recording of a tomato plant pulled from this article.
D and I were on a walk the other day and were engrossed in a hummingbird who was making its trademark guttural call. Given the size of its body (and vocal chords) I figured most of the sounds would be inaudible to us and set to googling. Here’s an example of a hummingbird call slowed down. Clearly, there’s a lot more going on in terms of both melody and definition.
I spent some time in the Redwoods over the holiday weekend … what a place. I’m sure there will be a poem about it soon with some more pics.
Thanks for reading.
“Scraped plastic” “more leather than note”
So good. Felt very relatable as a whole and the shrapnel of a mind and mapping to meaning. My everyday