Silence Is a Loud Noise

in a tiny town

that is always asleep

i collect silences

the ones that barely register

on a meter

not empty ones,

but the full, heavy type

that i trade for the breath of liberty

to those who have been silenced.

i keep the sequestered quietude

that defiles the air

in small glass vials

on a heavy gold chain

—the trinket is warmed on my chest.

The sound of rain, drip by drip,

after a long dry spell

in the desert

is the sweetest gardenia

a stillness that gathers

until the silence finds its voice

blows away from a sleepy front door

and roars with the wind in the wild.