Silence

I can't be okay with all this silence.
Instead of a calm, settling quiet,
A gentle veil or shroud to muffle the
Aching noises of the day to day,
Your silence is a raging river, a vast
Hollow echo that magnifies every move
I make until I'm forced to face the vastness
Of the empty space I occupy.
I find silence in abundance here.
Draped across chairs, stacked
In piles on the kitchen table or inserted
Among the books scattered on the shelf,
Those put up in a hurry whose titles aren't
Even visible to me. Your silence has the
Smell of neglect, and a certain dampness
That hovers just above my sheets, yet
Disappears just before I touch them.
I sweep up your silence on all the days
It's not too hard to push the broom.
The silence you always carried in your mind
Is the silence that spilled out into my everyday,
The mess you'd left behind for me to clean,
And I'm faced constantly with the magnification
Of the hollow beating of its heart
(or is that my own?),
As all the sounds forced inward now are only
Covered by the muffled cries of what used to be
Regret.

1/31, transcribed and edited 3/28