by Suzanne Pearman
at night, when you make me out
by the lights of my eyes
in the shadows,
you will think my irises are sparkling
with happiness.
it is only
electricity, reflected.
I will try to concentrate my sadness
in the muscles of my face,
so you ask
if I’m okay,
and you will have seen me
sad
so often
you don’t notice.
you’ll forget to ask me how my day was;
I’ll remember.
I will wish I knew
how to start conversations,
but you won’t pause,
and I won’t learn.
tonight, you will touch me,
and my silence
will encourage you.