The Silent Fly

I tap the keys,
brush a few crumbs from the desk and smack my lips
in anticipation of eating
the snack of my people.

No air circulating or swimming around my ears
nothing but city pouring in from the night.
This millpond of stagnant refusing to drip

so much so I don’t at first notice the silent fly.

The silent fly is attached to my wall,
no amount of closeness or flapping hands can disturb
I watch him refuse to move for a minute

and return to my snack
and my work.

An hour later, I look up and he’s gone,
no more silent fly.
Until I turn to pull open my door

and he is there again, frozen halfway to the knob.
I reach for the door, palm up to swat him
and he doesn’t budge, not even a buzz.

I pinch my teeth and pucker my lips
ready to admit defeat.
But the silent fly doesn’t watch me move,
doesn’t crawl or zoom or careen.

The snack long gone and the keys at rest,
I scrub my face and cast off to bed.
The window still open, still waiting for breath,
I am alone without my fly once again.

Once my light is off, and I am finally feeling the breeze
washing away the last of my insomnia

I pull the sheet close, squeeze the pillow
and hear the fly finally unfreeze.

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2 thoughts on “The Silent Fly

  1. This is intriguing and after three rereadings, I’m still not quite sure what the fly represents–or what the “snack of my people” is, but it kept bringing me back to try to figure it out!!!

    1. Thanks, Judy! I appreciate the extra thought into my poem, especially since I like to play with metaphor, but this one was just an ode to chill fly and snack cakes. 🙂

Talk at me while I eat

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