THE INTERPRETER

You were behind
the lectern, again,
for a soliloquy.
And I, in the front pew—
the most coveted seat
to catching every wisp
of breath.

You started soft,
slowly sewing
all the words together
into a never ending line
and made every single space
out of place.
Your voice: an empty air
that weighed tons.

Listen: You could’ve said nothing,
and I would’ve interpreted it
same way.

© Gheeneil

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