HOW TO HEAR YOUR SOUL

by Audrey Elledge

The actor knows

what the poet knows

what the seamstress knows

what the tree knows:

you work with what you’re given.

Some days, it’s luck.

Most days, it’s your spit-shake with

Discipline and pledge to

Repetition

and the occasional necessity of

Rejection

But really it’s that small Rebellion

against the world that treats you as a

machine

Which does not mean

this is some tiny thing—

your jump-roping heart knows

the weight of your calling

Dismiss the din that insults your soul,

and listen to the voice

you’ve heard all your life—

—the voice that is in you,

but not quite yours—

telling you which way to go,

which role to take

which ground to stake

which words to make

which thread to break

and trust that your soul

is the center that holds

Despite the bad advice,

you do not have to be understood

your drafts don’t need to be good

the joke doesn’t have to land

there can be hurricanes in your hand

but when your shins hit the stage

and your pen finds its page,

call it an altar

call it holy ground

call it your calling

Because every note hit,

every beat missed

every tongue slipped

every crowd gripped

marks a moment that will slide

oil-slick through your fists,

so you only must listen if your soul says

Do this.

At the end of a job well done,

welcome the mercy of applause,

of a sighing crowd that fits like gauze

on your open heart

and bleeding art

but do not rely on them—

consider how swiftly a tide can turn

and your work can burn

as they vanish like smoke

like ghosts

and what matters is you’ve been strung up 

in a spotlight countless times

and survived

To pay attention to your soul

is to pull it taut like muscle

to choose perseverance over hustle

to exult in the quiet

to feast on beauty as diet

to be loyal to the world in your arms

to resist praise and its charms

to finish your work slow

to tilt back and swig deeply of the 

afterglow