Mute

By: Kelly Cherry

Perplexity had struck me dumb.

To say anything would be to attract attention,

which I didn’t want.

The darkening sky murmured

rain, clouds scowling like grownups.

A dark red throw lay on the couch

as if recovering from a cold.

My mother was strong

except when she disintegrated

into hysteria.

My father tore up her picture,

but he had copies. I hope he didn’t drown

the helpless kittens (Wynken,

Blynken, and Nod).

The trees were passing secrets to one another,

we could hear them whispering.

The TV complained about everything.

To say anything

would have been to exhaust myself

with rage.

Better to be silent,

to hold one’s peace

as though it were something

a child could carry around

like a Raggedy Ann,

faded, floppy,

but comforting,

quiet as a library.

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