That horrible self-baited
feeling in limbo waiting to be declined.
The other’s silence
like a timer-less bomb
At some point of
pride one surrenders the count to keep on counting
As one departs the
blast radius
There is no email,
text, or fossil-era phone call coming
One has been ghosted
into the phantasm of rejection
Once more commemorated
in the tree rings of self-doubt
Comprising one’s
spinal column
The junior proms and
university quads
The eighth-grade
movie theaters and marital living rooms
The scenes of assassinations
in face of extermination
Blurred into the get-out,
the silent spook
The you are not
wanted here in a way that is intended to be understand
And if not, you are
the monster for wanting words
A parting gift of
human dignity materializing what was not material
The digital proxy
stand-in
The corporate computer
operated answer press seven hang up
The numbers of call-on-hold time tally limitless
And then you
remember the blast radius
In shrapnel of memory
recollecting the sharpened guts of hope
That maybe you
wanted to be seen as a human being
To share a cup for a
sip and to feel that no matter the volume
It was too much to
ask, that one should not expect
The slightest bit of
reciprocation
One is to let go
To be ok with the silence
