ON NOT SPEAKING
Over the seasons of my sixties
and unwillingly
suddenly silent
no wonders spark in my visual brain.
But a reason why’s no wonder.
For so many years schooled
into naming everything
words and sounds categorize the world
and wordify my senses.
Precipice, for instance,
with its sliced peaks.
And acrid’s encaustic, that bite on my tongue.
Even blench
somehow leaves me paler
and more livid than before.
But there are descents into being speechless
for reasons besides pathology.
Although these may not seem any reason
or even be
reason enough, to many,
who believe only talking out pain aloud
makes sense.
Sensible or senseless
I know when shutting up is preventive.
or at least is less insane
than trying to be heard
by those inured to hurting
or being hurtful
when they indeed would rather hurt me
than pay heed, having heard me.
But if silence as you claim
overspeaks the chattering air
why do you refuse
to hear all I cannot use
my voice to say.