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The Unnameable

by Scarlett Catanzaro 


It was not as if the world stopped spinning on its axis,

or crumpled down around me.

It was not like a disastrous wave breached the shores

and washed away everything, leaving a blank canvas.

It was not akin to the shattering of glass,

sharp and instantaneous, like a bolt of lightning

or clap of thunder on an otherwise quiet night.

It was similar and, yet, foreign.


Instead, it was like a slow wash of silence

encased my world, quieting the noise of chaos.

It was like the unyielding cold seizing my bones,

filling my body with an unnatural, predatory chill.


It was something I knew I’d carry with me all my life,

having to greet it as an old acquaintance.

Still, I feel that chill; that wash of ceaseless silence,

and I can only say hello.

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