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Contributor: Cynthia Pitman

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Dedicated to Rebecca Pitman

After the silence,
after the stillness,
after the emptiness,
small sounds begin
to creep back in.
They come one by one,
an insistent procession:
the clock ticking,
the faucet dripping,
the heater humming,
the dogs barking --
all of them, just the same,
just like before.
Step by step,
they steal their way
into my tomb,
the sarcophagus of silence
in which I try to seal myself
from their persistent call to life.
They surround me,
shout at me,
And I breathe.

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I am a retired high school English teacher who, after a 30-year hiatus, has begun to write poetry again. I have had poetry and fiction published in several publications.


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