there’s a certain kind of quiet that hides in sun on snow, wind on branch and bunny in arms
a kind of quiet that becomes very sacred when it enters the city
we sit in the restaurant eating our fries, our quesadillas, and we’re on a date, staying the night in a hotel, watching a movie and holding hands because we can but my heart is uprooted for the faces, the paces, the sound of people trying to find this silence
we’re walking now, i focus on the way my palm feels against his, the swish of jean, but i can’t stop seeing the children, and for some reason, all i want to do is cry
escalator riding down, and behind us, little boy, so tiny, eyes so very wide staring up at me, begging and i don’t know his story, his home, his family but i wish to save the world and so
i do an awkward laugh, turn into trent’s sleeve and whisper, “we need to help them. the children. we need to do something.”
the quietness of the country, so loud in this mall-scape, world of wounded streaking past and i’m in awe of the color, the color of pain
one couple, pierced, in black leather, sipping orange julius and we look again, look at each other, say, they don’t belong in a mall, but for some reason, they’re here…
looking for silence in the curve of the mannequin
but it’s in the brown eyes peering up, the touch of palm on palm, the teardrop on cheek
this quiet the world craves
this salvation from the noise of our soul
(linking to one shot poetry)