An Elegy For Silence

My daughter sits beside me

screaming to herself.

I try to write a poem

and say goodbye

to my old life.

No longer will my day

be silence

stretching into night.

Time may still be a friend,

but a lover—no—

he’s found another

who needn’t rush

to find a bottle,

wipe a tear or ask:

Darling, do you need a beer?

Though I love my daughter

and my husband,

it’s silence I sometimes miss:

that uninterrupted bliss

of morning

turning into evening

without a single sound

but my own

solitary breathing.

No longer do I pine

for my Mr. Right.

I don’t think of procreation

or imagine cooking dinner

at six each night.

I don’t search the passing faces

wondering

if I’ll always be alone.

No—none of these

occupy my time,

but some days

when my baby is asleep

and my husband is away

I remember

a luxury—so sweet—

I didn’t know I’d miss its taste

—or that it would be lost to me

so complete.

— from desperately disparate lives, 2007

Maureen Eich VanWalleghan