Her wariness prickles
after an ill-suited remark is uttered
or possibly misunderstood.
Crushed by an acid word, a sullen voice,
lift of an eyebrow
she feels disrespected, betrayed.
A slow burn begins, lingers
for days, months, years
smoldering outrage
never discussed
until with time
layers of pain merge into sorrow.
Her soul’s inclination to talk
freezes into fury
hardens into pursed lips,
stiff backs, bent shoulders
and in the absence of sound
turns inward.
The original wound remains
beyond recall.
a
Sharon Lask Munson is a retired teacher, poet, old movie enthusiast, lover of road trips—with many published poems, two chapbooks, and two full-length books of poetry. She says many things motivate her to write: a mood, a memory, the smell of cooking, burning leaves, a windy day, rain, fog, something observed or overheard—and of course, imagination. She lives and writes in Eugene, Oregon www.sharonlaskmunson.com
© 2021, Sharon Lask Munson
Halfway Down the Stairs 