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Your Silence Destroys
He felt a pang of anticipation at the thought of her, rushing
to the bathroom to brighten her lipstick
as drunk perfumed bodies
tangled around him,
and he could smell a scent on her skin, like a mixture of whiskey and rosewater,
dignity, solemnity, beauty even.
All night she kept his long fingers linked with hers as they walked,
their electricity,
their long, steady flame
rising, spreading in waves of laughter, into an exchange of confessions
like when he would hang up the phone after one of their conversations
wondering which plane in the sky was hers,
what she would say, the thought of it exciting to him
But now she wouldn’t look at him,
absorbing details without curiosity, a blade that curved
like the prow of a Viking ship, sailing to battle in distant seas,
making it even more difficult for them to see each other
in so much silence.
He felt knots forming at the back of his neck,
her knuckles pale, her wrists trembled and her English faltered
as she made herself tea but let it grow cold
she looked at him now, her face contorted with sorrow
he’d heard her crying for
he no longer wanted to touch her
The birthday candles had burned out
and they wept together for the things they now knew
What was there left to say to her?
The thought of that silence
oppressed him.
Adaptive Form Poem based on This Blessed House, Mrs. Sen's, Interpreter of Maladies, and A Temporary Matter by Jhumpa Lahiri.
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Lucy's work has been recognized by the Scholastic Awards and has appeared in multiple publications. Her first novel will be complete soon. She loves photography, is a classically trained pianist playing in a rock band, and adores a good night's sleep.