I lie awake in the dark,
listening to the silence
crushing my eardrums,
If I could blast him
with dynamite and make him talk,
I would. But he'd say
get a life, or you better
grow your butt up.
Cold and hungry,
I pull the blanket tight,
clutch my pillow to my face,
and try to remember quiet times.
Copyright © 1993 Ruth Gillis
in Thirteen Poetry Magazine October
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