A Silence

Today's poem, originally published in Silhouette, is the end result of a self-imposed writing exercise. I pick a word at random. In this instance "silence." Then I try to block out everything else, focus completely on this one word until images start gathering.

Then I write ... and write ... and write. After that, of course, comes the revision ... many revisions, until what I've written has been boiled down to its very essence.

Then, perhaps, it's ready to travel. After all, poetry – if that's what results from all this process – is meant to be shared. If it doesn't turn out to be poetry, well, it's been a good, healthy exercise, at least.

The poem:


A SILENCE

There was a silence
between them, a wall
that neither wanted,
yet they had built it
together, rock upon hard,
uncaring rock. And now,
from opposite sides
of it, he watched
his coffee cooling off,
she used her fork
to turn a cold remnant
of fried egg on her plate,
quietly examining it
like a fine jewel.

© 1997

***

Today's word: silence

Afterthoughts ... in response to your comments:
Thanks, Featheredpines. It appears that my imagination captured the essence of that "cold war" ... and it's good to know that it worked, even if it involved a difficult subject. Also, I like your description of that wake-up call each morning ... here it's honking cars, an occasional siren ... a motorcycle or two ... and a sprinkling of birds. I won't even mention the squirrels dancing on the roof ... or in the basement.
Oh, I know, Hechan ... those silences tell us a lot. I've also noticed, when I'm out walking ... just casually observing the passing scene ... that there seems to be a clue in the distance between other strolling pairs ... young strollers are often hand-in-hand ... others, let us say those who seem to have known each other longer ... much longer ... are walking in the same direction, but with a large gap between them ... a completely unscientific observation on my part, I must say ... but interesting.