Quiet Poem (After Life)
The house still rings
with silence.
I talk to myself much more
now.
I repeat the names
of household things
and forget
where I put clothes.
When the wind comes,
it knows sound
better than I do.
When I walk outside,
birds squeal their alarm.
If I relearn a social self
it will be
beyond the bounds
of what talk
is supposed to ease.
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