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Defining Emptily
By
Jared Ward, Dec 16, 2008
The jaws snap shut and the sound is the hiss and clack of animated teeth catching nothing. Perhaps in the
following moments there is a ding when the light sparkles off at just the right angle. Perhaps they crack and fall
apart in a clatter of dominoes dropped on linoleum.
Regardless, it’s a sound of missing. The sound of the bat when it doesn’t hit ball. Of the space where dirt used
to be, before it was dug up and piled. The words we don’t share when you’re gone for long stretches of time.
Space and time. That’s exactly what it sounds like, the space where you haven’t been and the seconds that have
passed since you had.
On another day, we’ll discuss the feel of exactly, whether it’s rough and textured like a snake shedding its skin,
or smooth and sharp, like a blade slicing through flesh. But for today, let’s focus instead on the reverberation
coming from the snake’s back when the dead skin’s gone, the resonance from the wound where the blade recently
vacated, and save both exactly and the recently used recently for another space in time.
Because I know what it doesn’t sound like: bones crunching from the metal teeth of the trap, or the warm friction
when your hand shifts slightly in mine. It isn’t the slosh of water in a bucket, and it most definitely isn’t the
whisper of your legs against sheets or your hands mashing pillows.
Still, I’m left with a question. Is it the sound of my breath rattling my lungs when I suck in deeply?
Jared Ward has had work accepted at West Branch, Evansville Review, New Delta Review, The Dos Passos
Review, Zone 3, and others. He began the University of Arkansas MFA Creative Writing program last fall.
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