box

When there was, through no fault of the world, a little sliver of peace
That crept out
And escaped
The people in the forest stopped their drumming and their blanching
And listened

And when there was, on quite a fine day, a tiny crest of stillness
That caught on
And grew fat
The girls in the school shushed their giggles and their lessons
And heard

And after the bitter night came, a pinch of snuffed calm snuck in
sat down
and sprouted roots
We all grew a bit somber to think of such calm, so close
We took heed

And after all those insignificant instances
Of sacred smothered silence
I curled into an old brown box
And frantically wished for your noise.