Amplified (Seeing the Beautiful Brain Today)
(listen to the poem, read by the author)
You fold forward, torso just brushing knees. You rotate your head, right ear parallel to the blistering summer concrete. You are a traveler, ear to the earth, attuned to the stirrings of approaching animals.
You sink deeper into the fold, palms open, lightly dribbling the ball. The rubber bladder smacks the ground, contracts, springs back. You stand in silent awe, absorbing sound waves into your memory. You ask––
The ball sounds different when it bounces. Why?
Why does it sound different when it’s close?
How does it sound when it’s far?
Do you hear music when it bounces?
The ball rolls across the cement. You dart after, imitating the song––
Poomph!
Pimfh!
Poomph! Poomph!
Pimfh!
Your vocalizations stop, you press the soles of your high tops into the sidewalk, asking––
What’s a broken ball?
Why doesn’t it sound the same?
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Garden Memory
(listen to the poem, read by the author)
My garden surrounds me;
velvet orchid petals,
fresh rosemary.
I still imagine the blooms’
outlines, still trace
the contours of each leaf.
Night never leaves
my garden,
but fragrances grow stronger,
ever-sweet.
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About the Author
Erin Schalk is an award-winning poet and artist based in the St. Louis area. Her work has appeared in multiple publications including Stirring: A Literary Collection, The Petigru Review, Willawaw Journal, Wales Haiku Journal, Parentheses Journal, Jewel City Review, and others. Schalk has also received accolades from Writer’s Digest and earned a “Best of the Net” nomination for her poetry.