We choose what we do not see and I turned
Away when she raised her voice, sharp and
Open-palmed like a strike. The connection is
Lost and we fell
Quiet. In my mind her anger has no face and
I wonder if she furrows three grooves
Between her brows, or the whites glow with
Tears, or her face tensed, an expression from
Childhood. The silence damns our attempt at
Communication and it becomes hard to speak
To the table I’m looking at. In the movies it was
Easy to pour their hearts out –
The appropriate background music fills the
Damning silence, sets the mood, and gets too
Loud to hear the hurtful words, if any.
I wish I had a soundtrack for courage, or the
Next best thing: a director calling scene, and
Like actors we can pack our anger away
And I have the right to look into her face
Again.
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