By Ansie Baird
Then there’s the other, the one who
leans in from the edge of everywhere,
the one you pay to listen. He remains
quiet, embracing the silence.
You take this in, you contemplate
the brooding gloom. No apt place
to place your gaze. Still, he says,
I like you very much.
The radiator and the fading carpet
stay the same. You raise your eyes
and find despite these veiled revelations
he’s smiling, waiting you out.
Okay, you say, let’s talk about
something else. But don’t expect
miracles from me. Maybe just
some small changes. Long pause
Small changes are miracles, he says.
ANSIE BAIRD is Poet-in-Residence at Buffalo Seminary. Her 2009 volume “In Advance of All Parting” won the White Pine Press Poetry Prize.