A Mute New World

By LeAnne Hunt

In this abyss of sound, silence reigns.
Without wind, bereft of motion, of breeze,
the stillness freezes the breath within
a throat. Streets without revving engines
and without the rumble or tires riding asphalt
are painted black lines and the cars just metal boxes
on circles. A crying toddler is a gaping fish
without the shrill shriek. Birds are distant planes.
A dog without bark or growl gnaws the air. I
cannot read smoke signals. In this cloudless sky, I
am covered in fog dampening all color into noiseless
ash. Even my own tongue sits like a sock in my
mouth, muffled, mute, and imprisoned. Numbness spread
through my limbs to the farthest extremities
of my fingertips to the very cityscape
in my flattened eyesight. All this emptiness
because of a broken cochlea. God stepped on a seashell
and bade my world be still.