Silence is the Answer

I saw you at the market near the checkout line

buying that juice that tastes like floor cleaner and pine.

You looked tired in a way that had nothing to do with sleep,

a promise of a life I’m glad I didn't get to keep.

I remember the nights I spent begging for the door to stay shut,

for the chance to be the one who finally made the cut.

But the ceiling was lead and the words didn't fly,

and now I’m just a stranger walking quickly by.

The light hit the bottom of your plastic shopping bag

as you stepped through the automatic doors with a heavy sag.

I waited for the old ache, the familiar, sharp sting,

but I felt as much for you as for any other thing.