Close up of the dial on a radio.

Picture by Gsightfotos at Unsplash

There’s a radio playing in my belly, tuned to me, with morning news spewed, daytime dramas, cooking segments, talk-show experts, and late-night tunes, easy-listening like lullabies, and the schedule repeats, a loop that fades to dead air.

There’s a radio playing in my belly, powered by me, angles dig my ribs, gravity shifts, but I can’t feel it move, and however near your ear, you still can’t hear a signal, so we monitor frequencies, scan for transmission, check the antenna, send requests to the radio station, to play anything, anything, anything but radio silence—wait—listen—is that our song?

Rosaleen Lynch, is an Irish community worker and writer in the East End of London published in various journals, with work selected for the Wigleaf Top 50 2023 and a collection/workbook 52 Stories: A Toolkit for Readers and Writers, forthcoming with Adhoc Fiction and can be found on