the quiet world by jeffrey mcdaniel

in an effort to get people to look
into each other's eyes more,
the government has decided to allot
each person exactly one hundred
and sixty-seven words, per day.

when the phone rings, i put it
to my ear without saying hello.
in the restaurant, i point
at chicken noodle soup. i am
adjusting well to the new way.

late at night, i call my long-
distance lover and proudly say:
"i only used fifty-nine today.
i saved the rest for you."

when she doesn't respond, i know
she's used up all her words,
so i slowly whisper i love you,
thirty-two and a third times.
after that, we just sit on the line
and listen to each other breathe.






i went out to lunch with will and his mother today, and we had a great time. talking to adults about "relationships" always gets me anxious. it makes me think about where my life is going and makes me wonder who i should plan it around, if anyone. i was very amused to learn that will's mum once performed in drag as john travolta, lipsynching to greased lightning. i'm trying to coax her into performing next year.

i know it may sound petty, but i really am not looking forward to spending four months away from will. i fear that we are at the best of times and it will only be downhill from here on in, with me working full-time next year, and him doing his honours thesis. then the year after that, me being at trent finishing my last year of school, and him pursuing his masters in architecture in toronto. i fear the city will suck him in and turn him into this horrendous person that i won't know anymore and won't love. i fear that these worries about the future will absorb me and won't be able to enjoy the present any longer.

last year, the last thing i wanted to do at the end of april was spend time with will. now i feel like time is running out. but i suppose half of the fun is in not knowing what the future holds...