They said they would come for me,
but they do not come.
They said they would call for me,
but they do not call.
They are distracted by more important things.
There is no music, no tv, no purring cat.
There is no sound to cover the loneliness.
A baby cries for his mother.
It is my baby, it is me, it is all the babies.
We are all begging to be held.
I hold my baby, I hold myself, I hold all the babies.
It is ok now, shush, you are not alone.
The wrong kind of silence when the baby is born with a quiet heart.
His mother will not speak.
Her voice is lost in grief.
The wrong kind of silence when my cat is killed to spare him suffering in cancer.
His tongue hangs limp.
His purr is lost in death.
The wrong kind of silence when I ask my lover to be true.
He withholds his voice from me for two days as punishment.
His voice is lost in indignation.
The right kind of noise when I ask my new lover hold me.
He allows his voice to hum against his chest for me as reward.
His voice is found in devotion.
The right kind of noise when my new lover’s breath moves across my ear.
His voice is quiet in sleep.
His breath is found in dreams.