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Bells in Silence


After the house is empty

curled on a too small bed,

heedless of discomfort

(it has become a world where nothing fits)

she clutches a patient stuffed animal


He closes the door of his office

leans his head against it, weary

out of new habit, removes his glasses

breathes deeply

wishes for control


A week, a month, a year

A hundred years

A thousand



One Comment

  1. Relyn wrote:

    Hi, Lydia. I love your poetry and really fell in love with Shopping List when I read it on the Snake Oil Cure. Each Sunday I feature a poem on my blog with a photograph I took to illustrate it. I was wondering if you would give me permission to feature your poem? I do love it!

    Wednesday, June 12, 2013 at 3:17 pm | Permalink

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