Revere by Sarah Little

There’s a comfort in the silence that

falls in the elevator. My apartment

building is full of studios inhabited by

single students and the odd yuppie.

None of us make enough noise to be

noticed.

It’s our unwritten agreement:

you don’t disturb me, I don’t

disturb you.

Some would call this silence oppressive,

comment that breaking it is tantamount

to tossing a pebble at a mug.

It’s bound to destroy the

peace.

I prefer to call it soothing. A digital clock rests on the

nightstand: no ticking. The fridge was traded for a

model that hums quietly, white noise, perfectly

acceptable to be buried under music. TV plays loud

enough to drown it all out.

My misophonia remains largely untriggered, here:

I made it so this place can’t imprison me in my

mind, locking me into flight or fight mode, and I

revere the peace.

I filled in the blanks of this apartment to

be an asylum from the world, an asylum

from the messiness of my own mind,

and revel in it.







Visual Poem by Katy Telling

Twitch by Sarah Little

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