Still: The Journal

we are called regardless of if we listen or respond or don’t pick up the incoming shout still reaches us we are called every time our ears ring our ancestors tryna get through we might as well mind our manners face the air speak back to where we are called we are called wonderful called wonderous we are called gifted called great we are called when the incense exhales we are called over cups of tea we are called elbow deep in blackberries we are called mid-cobbler we are called midday evening midnight three a.m. or mere moments before the dew we are called at the tale-end of dreams we are called shoulders shaken outta sleep we are called awake we are called soaped up in the shower we are showers we are called by thunder we are called to rain we are called mid-drop we are called midstep mid-stride mid-stroke we are called wrapped in oil-annointed skin we are called mid-fantasy mid-climax we are called hopeless called romantic called insane in the forest we are called back told not to wander past the windchimes & we take heed we are called & called & called by our nicknames & when called by our full names we are sent for & when called by our four names (called by each of our eleven syllables) we are sounded out we are summoned we are present in earnest we are here in exhausted huff we respond with exalted yes ma’am? yes? ma’am? now how may we be of service?