Why has this calm stolen over me
when I lost countless years, not to rage alone, nor to joy, but to both,
jittering between the two like the lines on an EEG,
the REM patterns of a cold-sweat nightmare”s sleep?
Why have I found a stillness in this hour
when waters crash on eastern shores bearing bodies out to sea
while voices howl their hollow indignation
at what the singer wore and who the actor snubbed?
Why this desire to pause and fill my lungs
when experts warn that airborne particulates have topped the graphs,
while children carry Ventolin in the playground
and the elderly take their walks with tanks on wheels behind?
Why have I surrendered to this gentle power
when politicians squabble for a toehold in the polls,
while sending troops to skirmish in my name,
chewing up even babies with their machines?
Do not mistake my calm for resignation.
I would not pause before I pluck the eyes from those who threaten me,
but I have learned that the best answer
to a noisy rush of words is not a bluster of the same, but
silence
and
the soft padding of feet
the gaze to mournful trees
the hand offered in support
the ear bent to listen
