Para Papá

I've found myself describing a 'defining silence'

close to half a dozen times.

It's the oxymoron that replaced lonely,

so I snuck it in between lines, almost

as a metaphor for how easily lonely creeps up on you.

I went to Egypt with my family

and my dad and I sat

in the centre of a pyramid;

empty except for the space in between the two of us,

empty except for the spate of silence.

That kind of quiet makes you forget

you've ever heard noise.

That kind of quiet grabs you by the throat

forcing you to stick around.

That kind of quiet reminds you that

nobody

will ever

be patient

enough

to hear you.

If you can't feel yourself existing,

if even your senses give you up,

then you don't.

But silence doesn't equal lonely.

I was never alone in that pyramid,

lonely stayed outside, and silence

held my hand as I walked in.