Sitting at breakfast table
Mumbling with all the things unsaid and unseen to students and guides
How can I help but say them to the air
My brother glides by clutching clean forks and knives
And asks
"Hey, can you shut up?"
And it's not a question
But the answer is no
He wants me to be as quiet to the room as my ghosts are to him
The other side of the breakfast table another dimension
But how can I when my ears buzz and ring with hauntings?
Oh to be so still
To be so stuck and stoic in the present
So silent and unreachable to the murmurings of morning after
What a life it must be
