Quiet By Shelby Stormes
There’s always something going on.
The chaos of my surroundings
Seems to mirror my racing thoughts.
I used to sit and listen
To the inmates talk –
Cases, lifestyles, drugs,
Who’s down to fuck
And how to make a few bucks
Its just
Noise.
Meaningless
Like the scraping of chairs
The jingle of a corrections officers keys
The cell doors buzzing
The phone’s ring
The call for chow,
Or meds, or standing count.
The sounds
Start to bleed into each other
The way the days do.
They form a dense cloud
That suffocates
With arrogance and hate,
Sadness, guilt, and shame –
Like you can reach out
And touch another’s pain.
The weight
Drove me literally
To my knees.
Now
In a world with not a single
Moment of silence
In prayer, I’ve found
A different kind of quiet.
