An Appropriate Violence We’re all alone, at home, and drinking data. The Wi-Fi fuels our drunk cacophony Of beeps and buzzes, warning rings and dings, And “like” alerts. The clamor builds and breaks Our focus. Frenzied noise destroys our words And interrupts our day into a city Of disconnected hours where thoughts and minutes Are next-door strangers. Quick and cold, we look Away, we lock the doors and draw the curtains. Inside the noise, we never have to think Or feel a drought, the desert’s calling voice. We can ignore the quiet’s seeking thirst by Feeding our poverty a noisy glut. We send away the silent invitation. But when the power’s out, the silence sings And stops the subtle hum of house. Our screens Fall dark, black mirrors that can’t connect. And so We gaze into a vague familiar hint Of mystery somewhere beyond our reach. We’re lured to desert solitude where time And thoughts collect, reflect mirage, and ripple Thirst for a purpose. Here, we struggle. Here We crack our will and face temptation. Seeking Just like Elijah: listening to wind, To earth, to fire, and lastly to the still Small voice of violent tenderness, the hush That opens hearts to let the truth sink in. This is a privileged time, the desert hour, Where we are ground, where we are crushed, where we Rend hearts with whispers in the wilderness.
Maura H. Harrison is a poetry student in the Master of Fine Arts in Creative Writing program at the University of St. Thomas, Houston. She lives in Fredericksburg, Virginia.
Amethyst Review 