the silence of silence. It was my own silence.
― Sylvia Plath
I know it well.
I know the quiet creaking
Of my parent’s house,
The sudden hush
Before a downpour of rain…
The absence of a friend
Who won’t return again.
I know the dark silence
Of your eyes
The midnight watches
Of regrets and whispers.
I’m not afraid to be alone
With ghosts or lightning…
It’s my own silence
I find frightening.