Impossible Silence

by Natalie Giacone

One of her jobs
is to pray at every bungalow in their estate.
She’s in formal garb,
carrying a tray of burning incense.
She floats over her movements,
mermaids her way in
tightly wrapped skirt
across my porch.
I’m in love and she’s ten.

I bite into scrambled eggs,
and her head turns
She holds her poised formality,
but her full lips smile,
and I see a child.

“Hello,” I must speak
But she disappears to the altar.
I don’t follow.

Wiping my chin,
she envelops back
in front of me
to an altar I didn’t know existed.

She looks,
closes eyes,
sprinkles water,
and lips foreign words
that I feel
in all my numb places.

Left right left
in front of me
again
she bends
to place more incense.

In her growing hips,
I see the woman to come,
and I worry for her.

“Thank you,” I must speak
in the smoke
of the impossible silence
of
our
blessings.

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One Response to Impossible Silence

  1. Janet says:

    This reads so well. And it brings back great memories of Bali. I can see you sitting on your porch as this scene and event happened. Nice poem.

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