The Silent House

The mother wakes early to her silent home.
She stealthily glides down the stairs descending into the dark kitchen.
Fixing herself a pot of coffee she quietly thinks to herself.
As the rest of the house sleeps, she showers, she dresses…she leaves for work.
Not disturbing the silent house.

The daughter awakes, trudges to the bathroom, her hair a mess mopped on her head.
She carefully walks down the hall to the kitchen,
 Trying not to stir the creaks hidden in the old wooden floors.
She goes to the fridge and gently pulls the orange juice pitcher off the shelf.
The silence is lonely, the silence is chilling….it’s depressing.
She showers, she dresses…she leaves the silent house and goes to work.

The father wakes he scuffs out of his room and creaks down the stairs.
He pores himself a cup of coffee and sits down with the TV remote.
The world is a loud and corrupt place; it has nothing good to say.
He goes out to the porch and breathes in the crisp air.
The silence is what it is, nothing shocking….it’s best that way.

The grandfather wakes shovels his way to the bathroom, his bones creaking and squeaking.
 A few moments later he makes his way to the cup of coffee awaiting him.
He sits alone in the quiet house the only sound he makes is the faint slurping of his lips.
The silence is comforting, the silence is pleasant…it is his friend.
He makes his way back to his bed and sleeps, slowly fading back into the silent house.

When all return at the end of the day, they all sit quietly at the dinner table.
The only sound they compose is the clanking of forks and knives on their plates.
Then….they breath they look up to see each other, “How was your day?”
The yelling begins the silence is broken, the voices are loud and the flood gates are open.
They escape the binding table and go to their designated places, the day is done and…
The house returns to its silent state, perhaps it is better that way.