Silent, I will remain.
Don’t give away too much.
Do you remember
you observed my silence once,
and it scared you.
It made you think about your own words,
because I would not give you mine.
My words are powerful.
Poetic.
Not so easily given away anymore.
If you receive a one word answer,
it is because the question
was not worthy of more.
Yet still,
you wait for me to speak.
You say my words are hurtful.
Unnecessary.
Unforgivable.
Then you won’t miss them
when I withdraw
into the inevitable hush
of my own choosing.
My children do not hear me.
I speak with parental passion
they speak in modern vernacular,
a tongue I do not wear comfortably.
I have tried
to tailor my voice
to fit their ears.
Desperately,
lovingly,
fiercely.
But silence
is now my ending.
