The ceiling fan, with its endless repetitions, a relief
It never gets too hot here, but still I roast
Age most likely, approaching 48 in a few weeks
And I've always been one to overheat
Except when I am bone cold
Then I turn on the central air
New furnace, old ducts
I listen, wait
Silence and then rumbling like an earthquake
Or an unmuffled motorcycle
The heat goes on and fills the house with a thick sound
Like hot marshmallows
Sometimes if I am quiet enough
Or when my lungs are particularly loud
I hear the close up sounds
So much part of me that I don't usually notice
The filling of my chest
Inhale, exhale
That was one of the ironic beauties of smoking
The way it made me pay attention to my breath
Other sounds are hard to grasp or describe
Electronic pollution
Radio waves
Frequencies distorted by a million wireless connections
My mom once got into magnets
You know, the kind you wear on your body
The ones they make into mattresses and protective clothing
As if that would ward off the toxins of modern life
I'm listening now
Quiet
Except for all the sounds
