Silent

So far away, it’s hard to imagine.

Think of the quiet efficiency, the deadly intent.

And I have to explain where her father went.

The chilled breeze comes by, and for a moment, I can taste the answers.

But just for a moment.

Eliza doesn’t speak her mind.

I guess she’s thinking of the way she and the neighbor’s daughter fight over toys and the right to draw with chalk on the sidewalk.

Maybe I could say it’s that kind of problem,

Simple,

Clear.

But then she would ask why her dad isn’t home yet.

I could begin an endless conversation,

But she’s only six.

I’m sure she’s imagining her dad like a hero in the cartoons on TV, where
Everything’s a joke, and nobody but the villain gets hurt.

But who’s the villain on front lines?

She frowns when I don’t speak, but I’ve been silent before.

Mommy can’t say anything, and she can't answer your questions, Eliza.

She doesn’t know what’s happening, or why.

She can’t imagine the costs.

She can’t speak.

And we are silent.