The Rest

by Glen Martin Fitch

I later heard
she almost died.
Although she didn't try
to keep the fact from me,
the how and how come
wasn't mine to know.
My feelings
weren't her first priority.
So when I heard,
I had the time to think.
I didn't see her, call--
as I was bid.
Another time
I might have forced a link.
She didn't want my help,
yet help I did.
Musicians read staff measures
scanning notes.
The order, tempo, volume,
are displayed.
A rest is more than silence.
It devotes a value, beat,
a presence still conveyed.
My absence, silence,
were not crass neglect.
They proved my love,


Glen Martin Fitch's picture

Glen Fitch is a 16th Century poet lost in the 21st Century. Born near Niagara Falls, educated in the Catskills, thirty years on the Monterey Bay he now lives in Palm Springs. Retail not academics has paid the bills. Someday he will finish Spenser's "The Fairie Queene."

Last updated August 23, 2011