The Quiet
by Jordan Sanderson
Under a sweetgum tree,
Shadows birthed light late
In the morning. A crow hollered,
Shocking a gobble from a turkey.
On the way home, he stopped
By his grandma’s house and heard
Her screaming inside. When he asked
What was wrong, she said she was trying
Not to lose her voice. He pruned every shoot
From his own voice, kept it shaded
As a whisper at a funeral. He had
Never blurted anything in his life,
Not a single answer to a question
On a game show, not a chorus
When he was riding alone, not
A prayer. Everything he wanted
Depended on keeping quiet.
Jordan Sanderson (he/him) lives in Lucedale, Mississippi. His work has appeared in Pithead Chapel, Mockingheart Review, Better, Gigantic Sequins, Red Earth Review, and other journals, and he has published a couple of chapbooks, Abattoir (Slash Pine Press) and The Formulas (ELJ Publications). Jordan can be found on Twitter at @docsanderson.
