there is something oddly beautiful about the insane, the mentally unstable if you will. we take for granted their voice. they do have a voice. whether there are single or multiple of these voices, they are just as important as ours. i can account for them. i come from a lineage of voice hearers. of secret dwellers. of midnight whisperers. they are truly remarkable.

my grandmother is a midnight whisperer. she takes the moon and the stars and the fireflies. she talks to them. i believe they listen to her. they talk about things like the dust and what is hiding in the garage.

she has this interesting feeling that there are bodies in there. my grandfather fought in the vietnam war. he says that combat on foreign territory does not bring you back the same man.

supper at the dining table is unusually silent. there are spider-webs above the china cabinet. i sit alone most days. my grandmother is busy whispering. my grandfather is in the garage.