How punishing the silence, a presence of its own, that battens down the corners of my soul, binds my heart unto itself, steers me into emptiness, sharpens stillness to the point where I wait for the smallest of sounds... a pin to drop or a needle to rise through the cotton of my shirt, prick the darkness like a bell, tolling, rolling, ringing news.
I had been taught to love the light, the way it crisps color, casts shape in my sight, throws shadows like dancers on the wind. I had been taught to love the light and despise darkness as if it only harbored sin. What did I know about the way light lies, leads me to think I know the path to tread. Darkness should be, I was told, a thing to dread but as it goes I'm steadied in it, stilled, sculpted into a magnet for sound, a silent one who's wise to wait, listen, be found.