Prose It's In the hearing by Christine Swiderski
While I walk this earth I am reminded not all see what I see.
The sun may be beating down on my shoulders sending beads of sweat on my skin.
Yet the man across from me on the bus is chilled to the bone.
Not mere medical issue it is in the hearing.
Those who have ears let them hear, old rendition many do not see the words.
How shall I call to a heart never loved or touch the lip of one never kissed.
My prayer is silent.
It is in the hearing.