Solid Silence
by Diane Webster

The angel wishes me silent
with her finger to her lips
as she poses in statue marble
above a grave, above a name
unknown to me but beckoned,
drawn to stare at the angel
like if I touch her,
her foot, her gown’s hem
her stony shell crumbles,
and she rises, disappears with a smile.
But her silencing finger
restricts my feet
except in backward, honoring steps
to leave this angel in peace,
intact, in solid silence.

Illya's Honey Literary Journal

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