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December 2007, vol 3 no 4

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Francis Masat

 

Silence at Rest

"When your Dad was alive -."

"I know, Mom. Talk with you nex' week."

"All right - bye."

"I love you. Take care," I whisper, staring out a window.

gray—
the gentle descent
of a snowflake

Gently I ease my phone into its cradle–waiting–not wanting to let go. Silence follows–hard, dark, ringing, soul-filling silence. Rooms away, a clock ticks. A clock I haven't heard since last week–after the same silence. Dog breathes a sleeping sigh. The ceiling creaks. A branch scratches the rain-spout. Silence is once more in retreat, forced back for yet another week.

by Fall willows
she stopped to rest—
we moved on