Blog PostsFriends | When I Hear Your NameWhen I hear your nameI feel a little robbed of it; it seems unbelievable that seven little letters could say so much. My compulsion is to blast down every wall with your name, I'd paint it on all the houses, there wouldn't be a well I hadn't leaned into to shout your name there, nor a stone mountain where I hadn't uttered those seven separate letters that are echoed back. My compulsion is to teach the birds to sing it, to teach the fish to drink it, to teach men that there is nothing like the madness of repeating your name. My compulsion is to forget altogether the 19 other letters, all the numbers, the books I've read, the poems I've written. To say hello with your name. To beg bread with your name. "she always says the same thing," they'd say when they saw me, and I'd be so proud, so happy, so self-contained. And I'll go to the other world with your name upon my tongue, and all their questions I'll answer with your name... the judges ans saints will understand nothing. God will sentence me to repeating it endlessly and forever. Michael...Michael...Michael...Michael...Michael...Michael...Michael... |