Boredom skulks outside my window
in a trenchcoat and a cartoonish hat.
She is no threat to me, and of no interest.
I mind my business.
I am a poet.
Whether any good is debatable,
but as long as I have interests,
and words to explore with, I am fulfilled.
I read my heart and write what I find,
then I find what I write, and read it again.
In the passageways between my heart
and my words, I find my treasures.
The stranger on the internet.
The faith I had for a season.
The chihuahua in my lap.
The fear I befriended.
My poems host my stories,
memorialize my conquests,
make sense of my misery,
and immortalize my loves.
And then there is silence.
Sometimes for days or weeks,
at other times, months or years.
How do I read silence?
I am no less me in the silence,
and my life is no less full-
my home no less warm,
my loves no less adored.
Where then did the flow of my words go?
I gaze in the direction of the one I love,
inviting him to be my muse.
He is oblivious to my presence.
I continue to gaze. He continues to not know.
I try to read his heart, to write what I might find.
It comes into focus. “Do not immortalize me-
just love me here and now.”
I put my pen down.
In a new-found flow of silence
I have discovered treasures again.
For now, words are not my business.
Jaya Berged 