Silent Spring

By GRAY DAVIDSON CARROLL

I saw a barn owl staring out from a telephone wire
driving down the road with the sky looking
like the edges of the newspaper we crumpled 
into balls to light the woodstove 

in the house I learned hunger in
through the fields made heavy with sky
the damp clinging to my skin 
the way a washcloth stays cloaked to the rind

It’s January, and in my environmental health science class
this afternoon we talked about Rachel Carson and Silent Spring
And with the EDM pumping through my brand-new noise-canceling headphones
I can’t hear the sounds of the world outside my windows

And the ground looks the way I remember April 
when I didn’t have words to put to it

 

Gray Davidson Carroll is a writer, public health educator, and (self-proclaimed) hot chocolate connoisseur. They are the author of the poetry chapbook Waterfall of Thanks, and their work has further appeared or is forthcoming in Sage Publications, Frontiers in Medicine, and elsewhere.

[Purchase Issue 28 here.]

Silent Spring

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