Deaf Ears Still Hear

My throat has long been silent. My tongue weak and only a bare whisper. But I remember when I could stir the mountains. I could raise the sun. I could call a storm. No, not a storm. Storms cause distruction and hopelessness. My voice was of grace. Every moment I could, I would sing. Marco would roll his eyes every time I heard my favorite song come on the radio. Still, he played the piano along with my voice as we ruled the stage of our living room. He drummed along the aisles at the grocery store as I rose my voice above the rattling shopping cart.

Now I hear nothing over the noise of the wind. It shakes the windows of my bedroom though they are boarded and dark. No electricity. The radio only is a string of blaring fuz. No running water. I stare blankly at the square of wood covering my window.The trees outside are being torn from there roots. Rain drowns the streets. Marco is out there. I am deaf to the music. I can no longer hear over the screams of the hurricane. Where is Marco's reassuring voice? I am trapped.