There’s nothing deaf
about not listening,
about taking other people’s words,
and wasting their presence
like you own them.
They just disappear.
Everything to be heard
for the last time.
A voice then is known
for the way it leaves—
action dissolves to memory
if not picked up
like some afternoon shadow.
If suddenly without words,
I come to you.

from These Hands Are Not Ours (ESAW, 2009)


One Comment on “Disappearance”

  1. Sam Silva says:

    your poetry is always good, Jill


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