Heartpen: Poems of a Cardiac Quill

Silence

I pace in the alley and wonder if I should

call after Madeline,

but I hope more that she might call after me,

the sound of her heels clop-clop-clopping

farther and farther down

into

this tunnel in a tunnel,

into

silence.

We humans like silence, don't we?

It always meets us where we are,

never asks blood of us,

but simply is

when we are not.

When we stop warring,

stop thrashing to and fro,

stop cursing the wind,

There silence is.

The ice cream in the freezer.

The aunt who listens

to our problems via landline

while she mumbles through crosswords.

The officer who lets us off the hook with a

warning and a wink, wadding

the ticket.

Depending on the context,

a lingering pause

can denote bonding

or mark

the end

of a friendship.

I exit the alley and scoff,

wanting only to stoke some crackly fire and

to snuggle my dogs

in silence.

That's when I hear

Madeline call,

louder now, louder,

a tune in her tone

even when she is sleepless, cantankerous.

She could sing professionally.

Folks tell her that.

And now that she calls, I want to go to her

as I thought surely I would,

but I don't go

as I realize I've been the one calling

for the longest time

with no answer,

and now

she has only started calling

because I've stopped.