Silence can point
to so many things.
Sometimes, it reveals
shallow breaths,
and even gasps,
where it feels as if
we’re barely alive at all.
It can be a manifestation
of confusion’s wordlessness,
or exhaustion’s overwhelming.
Tears, flowing down
Cheek Creek, can be the rain
from a sudden storm, or
the melting of a glacier, or
a hole punctured
in love’s cistern,
all revealing that we need
help rebuilding a bridge
we never imagined
could have crumbled.
Introspection, as it sits
above the others,
wants us to walk through
its field, slowly, carefully,
observantly, pausing to stare
at the myriad rows
still planted, noticing
the shoots breaking through,
the buds bursting open.
It invites us to imagine
the scent and taste
of the fruit
that’s still to come.
Laughter waves its finger,
reminding us of one
of the many times
when giddiness reared
its silly head, bringing forth
a guffaw so loud it nearly
waked the neighbors.
Love, like a stubby
little thumb, reminds us
that it’s not only still
alive and kicking,
but it’s also the very thing
that will continue
to hold us together,
every day, until
our joyous day
of reunion arrives.
© 2026 Todd Jenkins
