Let The Silence Be Violent Until It ⁣⁣Heals You

There is a metal bench in the middle of a park.⁣⁣

The kind weathered by heat ⁣

and rust ⁣

and joy ⁣

and reflection. ⁣⁣

It sits as an island, shining like⁣⁣

poolside tile where ⁣

someone's daughter might rest ⁣⁣

and dangle her feet over the edge⁣⁣

and into the water underneath⁣⁣

(if you can imagine ⁣

the cool blue the way she might).⁣⁣

Stick figure legs poking out ⁣

beneath a toddler's sundress⁣⁣

and kicking the air. ⁣⁣


Soak your bones. ⁣⁣


One day, a man gathered ⁣

all of his baggage and ⁣⁣

tucked it into his chest cavity ⁣⁣

and sought out that park bench and, ⁣

without thinking, ⁣⁣

walked straight across the lawn⁣⁣

(lava) ⁣⁣

to sit on the island and weigh it down. ⁣⁣

When he realized what he'd done, ⁣

he checked his feet ⁣⁣

for scarring on his soul⁣⁣

but saw⁣⁣


grass stains, ⁣

and took the time to contemplate how ⁣⁣

hopping from one stick on the ground ⁣⁣

to a pave stone ⁣⁣

to a railing to ⁣⁣

a rock ⁣⁣

until you get to where you're going⁣⁣

was a good game as a kid, ⁣⁣

but less conducive for someone ⁣

so exhausted by ⁣⁣

that lake of fire. ⁣⁣


Here, though, from a city park bench, ⁣

he feels the burden shift⁣⁣

and sees the ground for what it is. ⁣⁣


Let the silence be violent until it ⁣⁣

heals you. ⁣⁣


Over the years, ⁣⁣

that metal bench has endured ⁣

the weight of one thousand ⁣⁣

children ⁣

(which all of them are, ⁣

regardless of age, ⁣

they just forget it along the way). ⁣⁣

The paint is chipped ⁣

and the chrome beneath it ⁣⁣

shines through a little more now ⁣

than it had in the past, ⁣⁣

but if anything, ⁣

you'd probably just call it character.⁣⁣

The scratches and the graffiti ⁣

resemble loose skin, slightly, ⁣⁣

like a smokers sag, ⁣

or – just – life, ⁣

ringing the truth in.

Thanks for reading, friends.