Three Ways of Looking at Silence

I.
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.

II.
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
refrigerator.

III.
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
sound.