Thursday, May 20, 2010
scratch and sibilate
their voiceless terrors.
One can almost hear them in rooms such as this.
My feeble ears lean to listen
even as my feet itch to leave.
What forgotten secrets
lie in the cubbies
where the silverware still spoons;
and there in the sink,
what mute shards of conversation
stain the dishes from the last supper?