silence

turning and turning in the widening gyre,

seeking a silence I find lacking,

my center will not hold a black hole and so I must fill it with things

windchimes and nail polish and eyelash curlers and cookies and cupcakes and handbags and handbags and handbags and jewelry and sparkly pink beads and notebooks and notecards and embroidery floss and pens and pencils and lip gloss and buttons in antique canning jars and marbles from my grandfather and hats and train cases and potted plants and scarves and balls of yarn and strings of bells and packets of antique sewing needles and a petticoat (a petticoat!) and old tin lunch boxes and colored glass bottles and Christmas lights and boxes of boxes and musical instruments and Halloween decorations and camping gear and kaleidoscopes and spoons and baby pictures and books and books and books and books

even so,

the relief is fleeting and–no surprise

to those who know–

my habit wants more every time and

all I want is

a moment of peace