Something that I said

[bobvincent]

SOMETHING THAT I SAID

Silence. Not a single word is spoken.
Closemouthed, struck dumb by sympathetic strokes,
we brush past each other without utterance,
bearing our force-field frontiers around us,
eat separately, sleep apart in cold beds,
listen for entrances, footsteps, exits,
strangers in the same house. And over what?
Careless words? I dare not approach her
till I think her tight-lipped anger has died,
while she will not speak first out of stubborn pride.
Her sister does this, too, sets that square jaw.
Are not women said to talk more than men?
Not this one; she punishes with muteness,
for I, blatherskite, intended daughter,
shirker of men’s work, cannot hold my tongue.
We mime this silent drama for days, then weeks,
mummers in a travesty where no one speaks

till a draining reconciliation
marked by shouting, pleading and many tears.
She saves her hurt-doe eyes for times like these-
“You’re the only woman I’ve ever loved!”
And at last I crack her stony silence,
until the next time that I fluff my lines.
I may ride my luck for months, even years,
yet I live in dormant dread of this fate,
my unscripted audition for the grave.
Voluble-best/unspeaking-worst is my gauge;
method actors, we play pain upon our stage.

We have no tacit understanding;
man cannot live by telepathy alone.
Some men would even go that extra yard
to get the silent treatment, but not I:
we must speak or we are no more than beasts;
even they squeak and growl and shriek and howl.
Constant communication is a need,
as much as bread and water, sleep, warmth and breath;
may we live in Babel, for silence is death.

[dedalus]

Been there. Twenty years! Don't collapse altogether.

B.

[bobvincent]

Come on, dedalus! Say something about the poem, beyond its veracity.