August 25, 2013


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.

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