Neruda liked for his women to be still
To be distant, unreachable for a time
Set apart, cool, immortal
He found solace in their stillness.

You don’t like for me to be still
You tell me you miss me when I go away
When I am distant and quiet and alone
You prefer me to be warm and smiling and close.

But I like to be still
To draw myself in and watch the world with unattached eyes
To forget for a time the duties that obscure my dreams
And the grief that closes in like the grave.

But like Neruda
I am happy when the stillness breaks
And, with one word, one smile,
I am brought back to your arms.

For J.K.



One thought on “Stillness

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