Zip of Silence

That zipper—

a harsh, hollow rasp threading through the night air,

tightening, closing, final.

On grainy TV, the gray plastic folds,

closing like a mouth that never speaks again.

The sound sticks like a bad lullaby,

a cold noise that seeps beneath my skin,

sealing off something too heavy to say.

I rewind the image in my head,

hear the sharp, slow zip again,

no comfort in the closing,

only the weight of silence

sliding shut, and shut, and shut.