said the Clock
A pot is gurgling pasta water
by the oven while the cicadas practice their clicks
through a gap in the kitchen window.
The wall clock’s hands rest on 11:45 pm
and every light in the house is turned on
illuminating the shadows of a woman
slumped against the dining table
waiting for the front door to open,
trading time with the clock.
This is what heart break sounds like:
the silence of a voice once heard
in phone calls and late dinner conversations;
the absence of slippered feet
swishing across the floor,
or weather-beaten hands
hurriedly jangling keys before the front door.
During moments when a body cannot reveal itself
it is reduced to little more than the memory
of its sounds, replayed to colour in the spaces
where its form should be.
The woman plays back each one
while the clock quietly keeps count.
Erica Dionora is a Canada-based writer and illustrator. Her works have been published in Plants & Poetry journal, Ricepaper Magazine, Lida Literary Magazine, and Seaglass Literary Magazine. She is working on a collection of poetry and illustrations. For more of her works, visit www.dionorae.com or on Instagram @acire11erica.
