The Muse

(An International Journal of Poetry)

ISSN 2249 –2178


Volume-3                                                      DECEMBER -2013                                           Number-2




by Marianne Szlyk

The last sound she will hear
will be the radio
stopping and starting,
endlessly rocking her to death,
playing what the aides want:
the latest dance song to get them through
the shift, to keep them awake.

The first sound she remembers
was the radio.
In her parents’ room, the endless spinning
of baseball games
went on past her bedtime.
When it was still light, the bottom of the third,
she would fall asleep.

Later the radio
demanded her vigilance.  She changed
from station to station, song to song,
chasing the perfect
music for the moment--
or the song that she could stand—whatever
it was.

Still later the radio
began to talk
instead of sing.
Sometimes she’d talk back.
Once she called in.

Now she chooses silence.
There is
too much to do.