IN THE DIN

We have given up our silent space
and sold it for security, for the sounds
of machinery and ever-ready contact—

the oil shale rigs and cellphones
are closing in, there is no distance left
where we might walk alone

and talk to ourselves, no quiet time
where we might hear the echoes
of our fathers and those before them.

Who are we now afraid to be alone?
afraid of loneliness and that process?
Who will we become but children

in cages waiting for the piper
to lead us out of Egypt
unable to think on our own?

Checking in on my daughter’s blog forthe archives, I’ve begun to weigh-in with questions close to home, concerns for a long time that triggered this poem.