Searching

She’s home, I said

And then whispered, but it doesn't matter, she won’t hear me

I could yell, I could scream, what good would it do? 

Why is that, you ask?

It’s in the knowing, I say

What is that?  What does that mean, the knowing? 

She hears what she wants to hear, she knows; only she knows, it’s in the knowing

The shadows in her room know

The creak in the floorboard knows

The breeze on the dusty window sill, it knows

The roots growing in the cellar, they know

The damp earth, the shiny leaf

They all know

I wrestle with the truth

I wrestle with the lie

She won’t tell a living soul

She won’t tell, unless I cry

Tight lips

Closed fists

I cry

Eyes shut, downcast where silence is met

Shout down the mountains, the valleys, the rivers and streams, the rocks and trees

Shout down the hills, the plateaus

The desert, the seas

Go to bed.

I’ll tell you in a dream, she said.