: Hush (poem) by Adam Giannelli :


Adam Giannelli


It is the quiet that comes

after, a ladle of chill. Silence,


from shore to sheer shore, spans,

but hush lodges,


inland. Hush, like a locket,

lets no sentiment spill. Without


hush, there’d be no shrapnel

in belltoll or wingbeat—


and without the summons

of a trill, there is no hush.


The calm after a quake 

is no calmer, but it covers


over, and its veil wounds.

In the beginning there was us


then up spumed two lassitudes,

gust-filled gulfs, one on each


side, thin hollows, where air

flocks only to flatten. Hush.


You sighed first. I followed.