Your silence speaks of anger…
Your words, when they hatch at last,
burrow like tiny poison darts
into the softness that surrounds my heart,
turn it into a bitter shield.
What did I do?
Surely I did nothing to invite this punishment?
Or is it my very inertia, my passivity,
that does enrage you so?
Something I learned in childhood:
Do nothing and you will do nothing wrong.
If only it worked that way.
Caged in my head,
my thoughts succumb to slow starvation.
If I spoke, you would not hear.
If you heard, you would not understand.
You would accuse me of using
“difficult words,”stopper your ears
leave the room, leave the house.
I, too, choose to skip the blow-up.
We are not the dish-throwing kind:
In all our many years together,
not even a saucer has hit the wall.
Our children will inherit a complete set of everything.