Moving Day in April

It was a remarkably silent thing.
No pall, no knell, no tolling bell,
no grey wolves howling at the moon,
no stampede to shake the salamanders
from their river rocks.  No women
knelt and keened, draining their sorrow
through knees and wails into the ground.
No gunshot, knockbacks, no gutting metal
bore through any concrete. No glass
symphonic as it shattered on a wall, no
dissonant tones, no vuvuzela belching
crowds into a frenzy. Nothing caterwauled
or called. I was there, and my voice fell out
as teeth in palms. You said nothing at all.

Jen Stein