I filled the well inside me with
ice dropping from the freezer,
windows slamming shut next door,
his breathing, and the
quiet progression of you.
I bent my body until my
hamstrings tightened, my core
became a tree trunk and
life thickened tick by stubborn tick
of the clock on the wall.
I sat solitary, counting off
the moments I belonged fully
to myself, waiting in semi-astonished
rapture for the quiet to come to an end.
And to an end it did—my body
tightened against itself, straining
to welcome your song.
The first thing you did was sing
in the raw rough way you didn’t
know how to—the only natural reaction
to all that quiet progression.
For months I hoarded silence—
it grew stronger as my body
stilled and thickened, and with your arrival
you sent it on to its next quiet pursuit.
Now is the time for song,
for blooming blue eyes,
for filling an empty well with
A Georgia native, Abigail Patterson has been an active participant in the Athens poetry scene, reading at local venues and for the University of Georgia’s radio station WUOG. She received her MA in Professional Writing from Kennesaw State University and her work has appeared in Inklette. She lives in Fort Collins, Colorado with her daughter.