Silence
I crave it
A stilling of the voices in my head (“never,” “can’t,” “imposter”)
A silent night
A holy night
All is calm? Never.
Bright? That’s the synapses firing, ratatat, plinking in a tinny pitch
The closest thing to silence I have yet to experience
is in dreams


Even now, tinnitus, like angel songs on high, has descended
down ’round my ears
to provide my anxiety with a soundtrack


© 2025 Amy Barlow Liberatore/Sharp Little Pencil

For What’s Going On? The prompt was silence. Too many years in NYC and other big cities. Even here in rural Wisconsin, the muffler-free POS trucks of the Friday Night Bros haul ass down the streets. The mere concept of silence is foreign to me, so I went all in on the “how.”