Silence is an Answer

Silence is an Answer

He got up from the table, the food had all been served,
but the looks on the faces, the uneasy gazes made him think
he might need to clear his mind before
they cleared the dishes.

He walked out the same door he had used for over
a decade
and walked out before desert.

It was no wrong turn that took him there; in fact, he was invited.
This last meal was much like scores of others,
but in his sleep he dreamt the drinks might be poisoned.
So, his bride beside him, they left the folding chairs in winter
(they were stuck on the floor and
no one stood to help.)

The night fell before the sun stopped shining,
the talk was subdued, and the goodbyes stayed firmly
on the ground.
He wished for longer tables and shorter lines,
for wider conversation and deeper embraces (not
to suggest too many things were unexpressed.)

He got up from the table, the words all untangled
stayed behind in closets of puppet stages and belfries.
He would check the mail often, his bride beside him,
and opened the past like cobwebbed air.
He broke.

He

Broke.

Silence is an answer, he finally understood.
And he never entered the same doors again.