Silence befriended me in my teens, playing chess by myself,
rehearsing opening choreographies, remembering
hard lessons learned.
Varsity matches were full of it, in spite of the heavy breaths
of contemplation and the every now and then glancing to see
if my opponent was starting to buckle under its weight.
I lived hungry for it during my first marriage, a 22-year cacophony
of two grown people insisting on being the last person heard,
until I finally got everything I ever wanted.
Then, there was waking up to it and reclining with it in the evenings
under a beige shaded lamp. There was singing to it at the top of my lungs
all alone and trying to make it cry.
Before long, I started taking walks with it in the early morning
and sometimes the clouds would part, letting me see thousands
of silent stars – ancient, confused.
Decanto Magazine - May 2013