Silence.
not, “Quiet!”
not, “Enough already!”
not, “Shut the ____ up!”
These leave a ringing in the ears that deafens.
Dulls the senses.
Obliterates the moment.
Castigates the quiet.
Silence, you are not this.

Silence,
neither are you
the quiet left by absence,
which shutters the senses.
You ring hollow, mournful, empty.

Silence, you are
pause, waiting, expectation.
My withdrawal to my natural borders,
Leaving space, stillness, invitation.
Into this, silence, you speak.
Can you hear it?

Purpose?
That’s a box to wrap it up in,
so we can wield it, distribute it,
send it:
to our workaholic spouse,
to our new-mom sis,
to our neighbor who doesn’t get it.

Silence doesn’t wrap well.
It stays where it is.
We bring ourselves to it,
sit ourselves before it
and wait.

Interruption doesn’t disturb it.
Offense doesn’t deny it.
Place doesn’t erase it.
Silence goes with us,
when it’s in us.

We can be the Silence.
The pause,
The fresh breath,
The undisturbed air.

We can become the Silence
on purpose.
A break in the action,
to attend to what no one saw coming,
no one heard hovering,
no one knew was near.

Anyone can compel quiet.
We can do Silence.