Whispered
Silence
by LB Sedlacek
He moved his lips this morning.
There was no sound, but I’d
turned it down, but when I
turned it up all I could hear
was the hum of the signal.
It was faded and blocked by the trees
and those eyesore cell phone
towers that never send a signal
when you need it.
I whacked the
TV but that didn’t help. My
eyes seized on a caption that
explained why there was no
sound. I took
my cell phone
and whacked it on the counter.
I dropped it in the sink to see
if it would float.
I dropped
one in a toilet two years
ago and it sank like my
hand did when I spotted a
fish and tried to grab it.
His lips keep moving and I
watch them transfixed.
I look
up “transmogrification” in
the dictionary and think there
are more words than I could
ever imagine that start with
“ex.” I stare
at his mouth,
his beard, his curly black
and white hair and realize
that I heard every word.
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