9 oclock
by Gregory Gross, MSW
(Note: This poem is the third in a series. Read installment I and installment II.)
1: So...why the sour puss?
2: You don’t know?
1: Should I?
2: We don’t always do what we should, do we?
1: Fair enough.
2: It’s about last night. You didn’t reply to my email.
1: What time?
2: Early, nine o’clock.
1: I’d hardly call that “early.”
2: Sometimes you don’t call at all, do you?
2: I mean, I waited a long time for you to reply. Nothing, nada, no reply – no reply at all.
1: Well, I don’t work nights.
2: That’s easy for you to say. But my life goes on 24/7. Even at 9:00 at night.
1: You and I have talked about a little something we call “boundaries” and limits. Uh...time limits.
2: Ok, I get that. Still...
(pause)
1: So, what did your email say?
2: “Life is hard.”
1: Let’s play with that a bit, shall we?
2: Don’t you just need to ask me what I meant by “hard”?
1: I could. But let’s deconstruct, just a tad.
2: Shoot.
1: Okay, what does your mind say – or think – when you hear me say this? Ready?
2: I said, “Shoot.”
1: OK. Here goes. Here’s the phrase – How hard?
2: “How hard?”
1: Now, don’t answer that question. Just let your mind wander – just a tiny bit. What do you hear yourself saying?
2: I’m not sure.
1: Don’t you hear “Hard how?” That’s a trace. It’s like an echo. An inversion echo. Again, Hard how?
2: That’s it exactly. “How now, brown cow!”
1: I don’t know what to say to that.
2: No reply again, eh?
1: A bit of a shot there, huh? You told me to do the shooting. Twice, I believe.
2: Well, that was my echo.
1: I’ll play along. So you got this brown cow.
2: Yes.
1: Describe it.
2: Her.
1: Describe her.
2: Well, she’s brown.
1: What does she do?
2: She sleeps all day. But she’s up all night.
1: All night?
2: Even at 9 o’clock.
1: You’re milking this.
2: Watch it!
1: Sorry, go on.
2: And she’s thinking, life is hard.
1: At 9 o’clock at night.
2: Yes, my pain never sleeps.
1: Give your pain a rest.
2: That’s it. That’s my echo!
1: Huh?
2: ARREST YOUR PAIN!
1: I don’t get it.
2: Listen for your echo there. “Arrest your pain.” Trace it.
1: You know, sometimes we stand at the top of the mountain and shout, “Hello out there” and the echo back, “Hello out there,” makes us feel less alone.
2: And sometimes no echo comes back. That’s called “No reply.”
1: Arrest your pain.
2: Exactly.
Gregory Gross, MSW, is a professor of social work at The College of St. Rose in Albany, New York.
