(for rachel, because i promised)

by epi

sometimes i thank God for quiet
and sometimes i thank Him for
noise.

most days, though, cursing the silence
or cowering from the racket of this-es and that-s
clamoring for my attention,
i thank Him for ‘you’s:
the ones unafraid of music that moves
muscles you never knew you had;
lifting bones, bending elbows and knees.
the ones who shape silence with prayer
and praise and

i thank Him that you, not just yous,
will know what i mean when i say
i think rosie takes me back to a summer
where i was everything and no one and
where truth flowed without purpose cutting
lies and love, not caring to distinguish the two.
i cut my own skin with words some nights
finally learned the weight of words
as i lifted them off my chest and put them on
yours. slight as you are,
you held them all;
helped me weave words
into songs i let my fingers skip over
lately.

but sometimes, like tonight,
i let those songs play,
watch those words dust themselves off,
and stand weakly in front of me,
let them shine with the essence
of a power they once held.

oh, i thank God for noise.
for reminding me of the little things that no one gets,
(a giant bag of only green and yellow skittles
and walden
and laying on concrete driveways
tracing stars with fingers, trying
to write poetry on life,
trying to make sense of life).

so yeah, i write less poetry now
and yeah, i listen to other music now
but every once in a while
i let those old songs play
until i forget to press repeat,
until i find that silence has locked those words
and those memories and that loss away.

and then i thank Him
not for the silence,
but for the noise, and the you’s
and the words we tore from skin and left
behind us, locked in rosie, painted on red walls,
bagged like unwanted skittles.

(i love you lady)

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