The house is quiet.
The seconds drip out of the clock into my ears.
I remember my grandmother’s clock –
and different seconds ticking away.
Slower ones made their way across a quiet table, set for two.
Time for quiet. Time for silence –
Only the dripping of seconds.
I don’t remember what was said at the table,
Only what wasn’t.
Father, show me when to to embrace silence and welcome it
rather than to destroy it with words and other noise.
Teach me when to speak and when to be silent.