House Fan

on summer evenings

before I settle into bed

I set the house fan to its highest setting

for a little noise to sleep to

and some cool air

now you remember on weekends

we used to lounge in a hammock

under the shade of an old oak

and as long as I could listen to your voice

I’d never feel afraid

so you see it’s not loud noises

but silence that wakes me:

not your bitter cry

but the unsettling fact

that we’ve stopped speaking altogether

———

but talking to paper makes a man dizzy

and these days I’m Stockholmed / I stay inside

my mother worries I’m becoming a house fan

well I’m picking up dust in this old room

the roads I walk are roundabouts

and memories are given wings / they follow me

like some parade of poltergeists

through this madman mind of mine

alliterative litter of stagnant time

circling back and returning the same

surround the sullen sound of your name