I haven't moved in days. 
"You need to write." 
I can't write. Its not
in me. "Then what is?"
I'm not sure. Silence.
"You can't have silence."
she says. Why not, I ask.
"Because you don't believe
in God."

I turn on the TV. I am tired
of God and I am tired of her.
"Turn off the TV." she says. 
She's not dramatic. She makes
sense. I turn off the TV, still
staring at it, as pictures turn
to light filled boxes and light
filled boxes turn into nothing. 
"You've said that in about twenty 
of the poems that you threw away," 
she says. "Why do you think 
it would save this one?" 
I don't know, I tell her. 
She was enough to save it 
on her own. 




-e.

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