Silence

Silence Some seasons of silence speak of an extravagant knowing, how our cousins and kin need food, laughter, and mercy more than mere platitudes.

"Grief and joy are not equal opposites," he says, by which he is asking permission to wield inappropriate hope. We nod in unison, eyes toward the carpet.

There is stewed pork in the dutch oven; fat and collagen have melted through meat, and it is as tender as the memory of a moment. This is an Ebenezer to the passing of kin's lights.

By supper we say we are sorry; we are here for everything or nothing. Is this God? It is the least of love, the most human thing mustered.

Some seasons of silence speak of an extravagant knowing, how our cousins and kin need food, laughter, and mercy more than mere platitudes.