You’ve probably been wondering why I haven’t written anything about the events of the past week — there’s certainly been plenty to write about. But I’ve been deep in thought about what I could contribute that would not simply be yet another voice adding to the clamor of teh Internets. So although I think we should speak up when our voices are needed, I also think there is a distinct lack of quiet contemplation in this country (and the world) at the moment. Therefore, I give you the following poem, with the assurance that I have some thoughts on the current events and will be back with a post soon.
There is the sudden silence of the crowd
above a player not moving on the field,
and the silence of the orchid.
The silence of the falling vase
before it strikes the ﬂoor,
the silence of the belt when it is not striking the child.
The stillness of the cup and the water in it,
the silence of the moon
and the quiet of the day far from the roar of the sun.
The silence when I hold you to my chest,
the silence of the window above us,
and the silence when you rise and turn away.
And there is the silence of this morning
which I have broken with my pen,
a silence that had piled up all night
like snow falling in the darkness of the house—
the silence before I wrote a word
and the poorer silence now.
— Billy Collins