by Rick Wishcamper
The sounds of my
girlfriend loading the dishwasher
remind me of the marketplace in Sadr City
The clinking clanging always-so-close-to-shattering –
knives rub cold one against another
sharp along the spine, across the front of the throat.
A click could be…
and a mix of shouts, angry Arabic, may be…
and the general din escalates always louder and louder with
a pulse of panic buried
beneath the chaos of sound
sound.
The sounds move, shake –
take on a life inside
and images flash
and mix with voices, dishes, voices,
images of the dead
and dying.
Rick Wishcamper lives, writes, and works in Missoula, Montana. He recently completed an M.F.A. in Poetry at New England College and owns and operates a progressive real estate development business that searches for new solutions to the various problems of appearently conflicting needs between humans and ecosystems in western landscapes.
