COLLECTIONS
People collect all sorts of things.
Key chains, stamps, post cards, matchboxes.
I collect silence.
Fractured. Sullen. Held in. patient. Puzzled.
Questioning. Angry. Hurt. Frozen.
All kinds, a museum display under glass, you know?
Documented, tagged and slotted in.
Tucked away in mind recesses
dead ends, landmines to commemorate.
This, the silence of childhood, empty spaces, standing away. alone. Much too early.
This, the quiet of growing up, words swallowed, tears in check, fists clenched.
Look! the silence of adulthood. wreckage.events. non events.
You knew all my silences. I willingly showed them off.
One by one. Trustingly.
To this collection
I add one more. This one’s rare.
Cosseted in the finest, sun-kist muslin.
Not to be displayed. Not like plumage.
Fractured shards in bronze, a zillion reflecting colors.
This calm silence of surrender.
I clutch the shards tight, laugh,
the pieces cut deep, mark me for life
I drink a sunshine toast,
Speechless, grateful at the sweet depths
this silence of surrender.