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The Call by Eben E. B. Bein

February 25, 2025
Reading Time: 1 Minutes
Today, while seated on a moss-covered rock,
feet dirty for the first time in ages,
in a forest punctuated with calls—raven,
woodpecker on a tin awning,
red squirrel chitting from her tree—
at the base, hepatica pressing up through the leaf litter,
the quietest, most patient call—
I heard a spider chirp.
A double pulse so faint
I thought my phone was on vibrate,
but my pockets were empty,
so I must have left it on my desk for once.
And there it was again.
Closer this time.
Unsure what I was looking for,
I hungered into that quiet until—
there—unbelievable!—
a wolf spider scuttled onto a leaf,
paused, and twice sent a thrill through the loam.
Years wasted
craving the next and newest buzz.
Meanwhile, a creature I had assumed noiseless,
coaxed silently over door jambs and windowsills
my whole life,
sent soundlessly across the threshold—
a being without ears
calling.
Imagine him!
Pedipalps charged with his most precious offering,
vibrating one leaf, waiting,
crawling to the next—
calling, then listening
with his entire body.

 


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Bein, Eben E. B.
Eben E. B. Bein (they/he) is a biology-teacher-turned-climate-justice-educator at the nonprofit Our Climate. They were a 2022 Fellow for the Writing By Writers workshop and winner of the 2022 Writers Rising Up “Winter Variations” poetry contest. Their poems can be found in the likes of Nimrod Journal, New Ohio Review, Sonora Review, or in their chapbook Character Flaws (Fauxmoir lit 2023) which explores judgment in intimate relationships. They currently live on Pawtucket land (Cambridge, MA) with their husband where they are completing their first full-length collection about parent-child conflict, healing, and love. Find them online at ebenbein.com or @ebenbein.

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