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Angela Mirisola Sep 2016
It's quite as the graveyard shift at the cemetery down the street
Silent enough to hear a ghosts whispered breath,
Enough to hear the tiny cries
of the little drops of water
Just escaping the sink faucet
When they splatter all over the aluminum bowl.
It's quiet enough
To feel the weight of the world on my shoulders,
So that the voice in my head
Sounds like a million voices
Belonging to everyone else
Who's awake at this ungodly hour,
Who feel the weight on their chest, too.
And as my pulse climbs higher,
And my palms begin to sweat;
And it's like my fears have multiplied
to the size of the sun;
And water from the ocean is filling my lungs,
And it's crushing me;
I think of the stillness of your body while you sleep;
the steadiness or your breath
As you exhale through your nose,
That halts the flooding in my chest.
And all at once those million voices
Boil down to just yours
Coaxing me back to sleep,
Reminding me that the weight of the world
Is not mine to bare-
And if it were I would not have to bare it alone,
That you'd be there for me.
And it's quiet in here;
Quiet enough to feel your arms around me,
For the sound of my slowing breath
To drown out the thoughts inside my head,
and I can close my eyes
And dream, so sweetly, of you,
My darling.

— The End —