An Academy of Silences

 

held

 

“An Academy of silences” Diane

Seuss said

 

and I was just before

thinking about how so many

relationships are carried on

as though someone has just stepped

on the detonation pin, & the long

aftershock pause has stopped it

all: the victims, intimates and

random passersby.  The fragility

of its nearly imperceptible

sound, or, for those who didn’t

hear it, the stock-still posture,

the absolute awe of the flesh yet

cleaved to its tendon & bone not yet

cleaved from its tendon and bone.  Toe

pin.  The lift of the heel,

the perceptive listener, like a piano

tuner at rush hour who can sift

through so many so many notes on those

slack wires . . . her hand goes up just

as her face is drained & everything is

quiet.  This my friends is the true test

of strength, the caution of the tipped

 

bomb, the unlifted weight, the people

feeling their face their ribs their crotches

to touch their still as yet aliveness, like when

the relic walks into the room & all

heads turn, when food is unchewed,

when the power is bulled from

every strand of muscletendonfiber

to keep the pin impressed, oh

my land, oh my soul, the strength

it takes to stave

the threat of obliteration

the lone menu item now

& everyone, everyone holding

their cough and gawking.