Robert S. Rosson, M.D.
It hangs over the house like a dense curtain,
Like a thick, impenetrable fog.
It is everywhere and nowhere;
Unbroken by the Brahms from the stereo
Or the nattering noise of the TV.
It is the silence of her absence.
There is the welcome ring of the phone.
They ask “How are you doing, Dad?”
I tell of the latest dinner with friends,
Or the movie attended alone.
Then the silence returns.
I long to tell her the latest gossip,
Or the good news about the choice
Of a new music director for the Symphony.
But there is only silence.
The lonely, numbing, deafening silence.
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