Every Good-bye

I was only going to do one post on Maureen Doallas' collection of poetry, Neruda's Memoirs, but she called me back with her opening to Section III Exit:

Every good-bye is a provocation, an invitation to witness and ending and claim it aloud.

Without wanting to, I was thrown into her words.
Without wanting to, I was writing my own claim.
Without wanting to, I wrote:

Silence

What I awoke to was the sound of silence.

Absolute silence.

And yet it wasn't silent,

The whoosh-thunk of the

oxygen machine still

filled the room.

The sound of morning

birds speckled the

new dawn air.

Only one sound was missing

but that 

one

piece missing

engulfed

all others,

changed life into

before and after,

broke the world

into pieces present and 

missing

left me

listening,

waiting childlike

for it to come

back,

please.