by Linda Pastan
If there were a monument
to silence, it would not be
the tree whose leaves
murmur continuously
among themselves;
nor would it be the pond
whose seeming stillness
is shattered
by the quicksilver
surfacing of fish.
If there were a monument
to silence, it would be you
standing so upright, so unforgiving,
your mute back deflecting
every word I say.
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