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Monday, August 25, 2008

A Quiet Evening

"What's wrong," he asked,
and she gazed, passive
past
the foot of the bed,
considered
whether to tell him
how she felt,
wondered
whether it was worth
the extra tension,
whether
it would pile up
against the door
like snow,
pinning them inside.

The rain poured
down
like complaints, the storm
downgraded
from a hurricane
to a nagging
wife.

She thought
about concessions
she'd made, things
she'd left
unsaid
to keep
the peace,
and sighed,
sadness
eating
at the corners
of her eyes.

"Nothing," she replied,
"Let's read."
She picked up
a magazine
and read
aloud
in a voice
that was sure
and confident
but never
speaks
out of turn.

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