silence

a prayer of sorts

The White Bull, Jose David Morales

I’ve never been good at keeping my mouth shut. 

I just keep making eye contact with the elephant in the room.

So every day, I think about calling you.

When I am particularly desperate, I do.

There is disbelief all over me as I say, “Call me!” to your robotic voicemail.

But you don’t return my call because you know what I really mean is, “Help me! Help me make sense of this world we created together. This world that you refuse to be part of now. Is it different? Where you live?”

Naturally, when I hang up, I start thinking of the list of people who hate me. 

I fantasize about them sitting in the same room.

Would you feel home there?

I know I would. 

I dream of finding the answer, of making them happy, of brushing it under the rug.

Of peace with every person I’ve ever met.

But if silence is what we have, I need to see it as sacred.

At least there is something we can still share.