Journey Into The Voice Of A Stranger


Fiorella Giordano

8:25 A.M. in speed of steel and train coming, coffee in hand and 30 minutes of longing to Seattle. Every face is a stranger, and every voice cracks a silence. I wait… for breath and vibration. Each voice tells a story, heart and soul- survival.

I withdraw into my thoughts, I am listening… I am lost… in the listening, simultaneous wanderings, coffee, and the music of these people’s ease and labor. Souls thriving and absent. And I am thinking about my youngest nephew, whose depths hide me, how his little peace hides me, all of his 17 months staring at me. He is dark space and fresh stars, in an unborn morning.

I remember I am anxious. I brush it away. I look over my shoulder, there is a tiny rainbow breathing in between clouds. I do not want to believe, today. I am tired.

The physics of all these…

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