Shared Silences
June 15 2009


An elderly couple
sit across from each other,
sipping tea
choosing dessert.
Beneath the table
she has removed
one of her proper comfortable shoes.
Her toes, in sturdy stockings
find the hem of his pants
brush up-and-down his calf,
in slow familiar strokes.
He glances over,
knows her too well
for words.




There is the silence of strangers.
Hunched into themselves,
whose body language declares
no trespassing.

There is the silence of anger.
The space stiff with tension,
bodies rigid
teeth clenched.
The last word
suspended in the air like an echo,
so it’s easy keeping score.
Or a flash of red
to the blood-shot eyes of a bull.

And there is silence, shared.
This is the ultimate intimacy,
so at ease with each other
nothing need be said.
The space between them
full,
the silence
understood.