Bridget’s Story

I look at your big, round, dark eyes
And sometimes wonder if they could ever reflect
The void inside you,
The battles never won,
And the battles you choose to walk away from.

Your big smile would dupe us,
It could betray the anguish in your heart,
But your silence never lies
And the tears you cry a reticent testimony
To the rage you suppress inside.

The walls between us hear the sound of your silence
And the ambivalence festooned in your mind—
To cry or not to cry, to surrender or fight—
As palpable as the fine hair on your head.

I once, twice, said you are pretty.
You laughed out loud
But what I heard was a hollow sound
Like random beatings of the drum—
Discordant.
For out of the overflow of the heart,
The mouth speaks not only with words
But also with the melody of laughter, or wailing
When you are rejoicing, or weeping.

If only the walls between us could speak,
They would tell of the shadows lurking in your mind,
Of the music playing in your heart,
But they are but that—
Walls.
So, I just look at your eyes,
And listen to your silence
And tears.