writing silence

now, how'm I going to write silence to the page?
leave it blank
just let it sit there?
a rectangle of whiteness
pure, undisturbed by my black inky pen
staring back at a brown face
seeing itself reflected in the white

how to write silence to the page?
write the words, mija, write them down
the words that slip beneath the skin
and sit themselves down as migraines in the brain
you know the words, know the words
but if there's one thing this world don't need
it's another one of those words
written down in ink
graffitied on our lives

they weren't our words anyway
the words that took our words away

write of oceans and coups
talk about the lives of your old ones
when they paid a nickel
everytime their tongues touched that of their mothers
and mothers mothers mothers mothers
snake-slitting the children's tongue
no more rolling of our r's

talk of quiet things
El viento de la noche gira en el cielo y canta.
English, mija, English
and the word's of another
are not enough
speak of the night before it all
the empty streets, only a few stray dogs, silent in their hunt for food
looking into the dim homes, lit by only a tv glow
or a lamp to show the words of a book
while soldiers quietly sneak
into the president's home

becoming a day that is known for another day

but silence is not a poem
poems fill the mind with noise
that rob readers of sleep
subconsciously
and fill their dreams
with an unwanted illumination
nightmares are not silent
writing silence
won't be done