The Quietest Room

He’s looking at a beige flower

on a wall that hasn't changed.

We’ve been sitting here for an hour

and everything feels rearranged.

I asked him if the pain was back.

He didn't blink. He didn't speak.

He’s a statue in a suit of black,

with a tear on a dusty cheek—

no, it’s just a trick of the light.

The gravy is growing a thick skin

and the kitchen is losing the fight

against the dark coming in.