Ambiguity

Fatigue

Sometimes I'm quiet because I can feel the sun setting on the other side of the world.

Sometimes I'm quiet because you are too and that is still the bitterest part about this mess.

Sometimes it's because I have learned to bite a bullet.

Sometimes it's because there's a couple standing next to me holding hands and it isn't fair that I'm happy for them but ache for myself.

Or I'm quiet because I haven't taught myself well enough yet and I still bite my nails and I still take notes on my wrist.

Or I'm quiet because I am a patron of comfortable silence.

Or because I've learned that my poetry is so much more confessional than I think is safe.

Sometimes I'm quiet because I used to think there wasn't any point to all this, but there is. There is.

Or because I watch the news and the world is caving in but in the midst of the rubble there will always be the kind of people who changed me.

I'm quiet in reflection, or I'm quiet in recollection, or I'm quiet in remembrance.

About rosemary sprigs, about the sound screen doors make when you knock on them, about diving in without looking for the first time in my life.