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.