When The Music Stops

Too many songs remind me of you now,
and if I do decide to take them back
I may forget why I did not allow
myself to cling to you. Beneath a black
sky, at last the music stops. Tonight,
you and I, who have loved the same chords,
same words and strains, attempt to be polite
and do the simplest thing: we lean towards
what is safe—silence. This is not the end
of everything. I'd rather tell you this
than move ahead with words and thus pretend
a live volcano really does exist
between us when there's nothing to erupt.
The songs are yours; I will not interrupt.

Donna Huneke cannot play the cello, but she can write poems. This summer she received a fellowship from Stockton College to write a chapbook of poetry about New Jersey. She is co-editor-in-chief of The Stockpot, the Stockton Literary Magazine.

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