To the Silence That Raised Me
You taught me how to hear the hum behind the nothing—
the way a faucet drips
in a house no one lives in.
The static between radio stations.
The breath before the apology
that never came.
You tucked me in with unanswered questions,
stitched bedtime stories
from the lint in your pockets.
You dressed in mother’s perfume
but never touched my skin.
You sat at the dinner table
where a voice should have been—
a knife beside an empty plate,
a prayer with no god.
You were not empty.
You were endless.
You crawled into my throat
and taught me not to speak.
You taught me to flinch
before the world asked me to.
Still, I carried you
like a holy book with missing pages,
like a hymn I wasn’t allowed to sing.
I know you by name now—
not absence, but architecture.
Not void, but origin.
You didn’t haunt me.
You raised me.
Not with hands,
but with silence.
You didn’t break me.
You built me with echoes—
and I learned to answer back,
with truth in my teeth.
Heather Kays is a St. Louis-based poet and author passionate about writing since age 7. Her memoir, Pieces of Us, dissects her mother’s struggles with alcoholism and addiction. Her YA novel, Lila’s Letters, focuses on healing through unsent letters. She runs The Alchemists, an online writing group, and enjoys discussing creativity and complex narratives.
