There are many kinds of silence:
There is the silence that comes
after the children are put to bed,
the hush that comes after explaining
the world to these tiny people all day,
and you tiptoe in your socks, praying
not to trip on any sharp toy that
has camouflaged itself into the rug.
There is the silence on the subway,
even with its screeching and whirring,
even with the chattering of strangers,
their world is not your world and
has somehow been put on mute as
you go from home to work, work
to dinner, dinner to home.
There is the kind of silence when you
look up to the sky and wonder about
its ceiling, you send a message on the
wind and wonder where it will land,
you whisper, “God” as a question and
listen for an echo.
There is the kind of silence planting
seeds, and you run your hands over
the soft soil, you look out over rows
of nothing and wonder if you’re the
only living thing in the field, you wonder
how you are made of the same things
as your garden, you wonder what
it looked like when you were
just a seed in the ground.
There is the kind of silence when
he is not your lover anymore and so
he stops calling, but there is also the
kind of silence when you were together
and you would look to him for a response
when you brought to him your secrets and
your quiet sadnesses and he didn’t
answer with anything at all.