The Rest Poem by Glen Martin Fitch

I later learned
she almost died.
Although she didn't try
to keep the fact from me,
the how and how come
were not mine to know.
My feelings
weren't her first priority.
So when I heard,
I had the time to think.
I didn't call her, just
as I was bid.
Another time
I might have forced a link.
She didn't want my help,
yet help I did.
Musicians read staff measures
scanning notes.
The order, tempo, volume,
are displayed.
A rest is more than silence.
It devotes a value, beat,
a presence still conveyed.
My absence, silence,
were not crass neglect.
They proved my love,
support,
-
trust,
respect.