letting it go

she could sit there for awhile
and say nothing.
let the silence, which wasn't silence
at all, fill the air.
there was the clock,
its ominous tick. water boiling
on the stove about to become
a whistle, there was
the wag of trees against
the window, growing soft
in anticipation of
spring. her heart,
his breathing.
but why fight, why on
this glorious Saturday
without snow falling find
umbrage with what he said.
he's said meaner
and more thoughtless
things. perhaps she'll
book mark this page,
set it aside, let it rest
until a colder, more grey
day arrived.