Mireille Astore



I am strolling down the foyer of the library

heading towards my 5 o’clock shift

when I suddenly stop and listen to the silence around me.

Silence growing between the thin piles of the eroded carpet

out of beeping OPAC terminals and into questioning minds.

Silence sitting on a high chair pondering

the monolith of absolute learning

seeping the oxygen of laughter, sleep and rage.

Silence, gliding the tight rope of one’s worth and one’s dreams.

Silence, the waiting in the fog for an autumn leaf to fall.

Silence, the hissing of conscience, guilt and pride.

Silence, the void one grabs when one has no name.

Silence, the oasis in a desert of choices and crimes.


©Mireille Eid