Three Ways of Looking at Silence

Sometimes it feels cavernous
and hungry
and I run away from it,
casually, like when you
fall but pretend that
you were running — I’ll
just stop at the gas
station, then grab an
iced tea — circling
the neighborhood,
hitting everywhere
but home.

Sometimes it is
water, it is rest,
it is all I could
ever ask for
and more — after
the screams and
stickiness of
children all day, the
keep your body
calms and take a
breaks, now
to have just the
gentle ticking
of the kitchen
clock, the few
drips from the
faucet, the hum,
every now and
then, of the

In the country,
there is a deeper
night than I
knew, a darker
black, a quieter
quiet. When
I turn off
my lights to sleep,
I move my
body in the sheets
just to make a


3 thoughts on “Three Ways of Looking at Silence

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