Walking Away
"You look like you're carrying a lot right now." Her look is concerned.
I know what she's asking but there are no words. No easy answer to what she wants to know. The story is too long. It doesn't make sense, even to me, so I know it won't for her. My voice broke this morning, speaking of my son. My eyes almost flooded, I can't risk that again.
So neatly, I side-step, answering what she did not ask. She listens, accepting my silence once again. I hate to disappoint the kind but the alternatives are messy, tear-stained, not the kind that come tied in tidy sentences before we cross the next hall.
Later we lift our voices, soaring to the ceiling, coasting together in song as we never can in life.
At home, I wonder how long I can put them off, how long I can side-step the questions without answers. It's coming. I can tell her question was carefully planned, a gentle opening, a pressing for what they all wonder but haven't asked me yet.
I imagine them talking tomorrow, "She didn't say," and the speculating that must happen behind closed doors.
I wonder how soon I must stammer of what I do not understand. I wonder if there are any answers under the silent, starry sky.
I know what she's asking but there are no words. No easy answer to what she wants to know. The story is too long. It doesn't make sense, even to me, so I know it won't for her. My voice broke this morning, speaking of my son. My eyes almost flooded, I can't risk that again.
So neatly, I side-step, answering what she did not ask. She listens, accepting my silence once again. I hate to disappoint the kind but the alternatives are messy, tear-stained, not the kind that come tied in tidy sentences before we cross the next hall.
Later we lift our voices, soaring to the ceiling, coasting together in song as we never can in life.
At home, I wonder how long I can put them off, how long I can side-step the questions without answers. It's coming. I can tell her question was carefully planned, a gentle opening, a pressing for what they all wonder but haven't asked me yet.
I imagine them talking tomorrow, "She didn't say," and the speculating that must happen behind closed doors.
I wonder how soon I must stammer of what I do not understand. I wonder if there are any answers under the silent, starry sky.