dining room table II
silence is a living thing.
so heavy, it consumes the air.
tangible and suffocating,
like flames.
the uhaul was waiting in the driveway —
his house of ghosts,
waiting on Kenmore.
me waiting for him to say something.
he never did.
he dropped me off and drove back to his.
where we both played pretend,
never to speak again of the
fire that consumed us within.
(this one is a bit more shotty, current work in progress)