The Other Sense



She turned away.
Eyes closed, she closed her mind.
Too late.
Too late for denials when intuition hears tension
where it shouldn’t be.
Clearer than the space between what she wanted to think
and what she wanted to say.
Her silence in the face of—
obvious lies,
and still they played on…
The tone behind the smile straining to build a bridge
between truth and fabrication.
So wanting to believe the plastic façade,
wanting to seek stillness atop the fault trembling beneath her feet.
Wanting to turn it off,
to stop words that couldn’t be forgotten.
Once heard,
too late to erase—
the lies.
The lone truth heard were the cries of trust as it died.

©September 2017, Christina Anne Hawthorne


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