Noise

I work in a world of noise.

My head is full of chaos, 
conferences, communication, 
social media, disinformation, misinformation,
infodemics.
Death, lies, and hydroxychloroquine.

Zoom calls, static, interruptions—

“Sorry, you go on…”

—faint, or often not, background conversations,
group commands to unmute.
Chimes, pings, beeps, alerts.
My own voice. 

No respite away from my keyboard office now.
Just three smaller voices:
asking for food or additional screen time,
complaining about school, work, chores, boredom.
Sometimes, good times, laughter and giggles, music and chat.
Or screams when it inevitably gets too much.
Voice after voice.

I hear my own voice. 
Again and again and again. 
Too sharp often, 
pleading, begging, cajoling, persuading, 
cross, demanding, encouraging. 
Loud. Never soft.

My other own voice is in hiding.
Trapped in a lockdown of its own.
Waiting for silence that feels like it will never come.
Waiting for the peace that allows thoughts to bloom, 
words to play, phrases to swirl.
Silenced by the noise.

by Sinéad O’Rourke