Sometimes, your silence is a cold- blooded creature
Unpredictable, uncontrollable, unknowable.
How will I approach this prickly animal?
my hands hover,
unknowing
Other times it is a fireplace,
Warm from a far, but you know not to get too close.
My hands hover.
But today, your silence is a handwarmer,
Small, familiar and soft.
I’ll sit with it in my hand a while until it goes cold.
This is about a friend i have who's silence took me a while to understand, but of course interpret it however you will, use and abuse it, that's what poetry is for after all. Let me know your thoughts :)-
inspired by Jack Underwood's 'Sometimes Your Sadness is a Yatch'
