The Weight of the Quiet

Sometimes the words don't come.

Some days, even the poems need a pause.

This is one of those days.

If I had a poem in me today

it wouldn’t come forward

it would linger backstage,

half-dressed,

forgetting its lines

numbness sits low in the room,

thick as unspoken words

time drags its feet

across the floorboards

even my hands

forget what they were reaching for

a cold thing —

not sharp, just dull enough

to quiet the edges of everything

a mind in a waiting room,

no name being called

I’d tell it to perform tomorrow

but today

it just wants to stay hidden

take its time

take a week off

from being a grown up