What the Radio Knew Before I Did

In our kitchen the radio was never off,“not out of love for any particular song“but because my mother couldn't trust a silence“not to fill itself with something she'd have to answer.“

I grew up thinking a house needed a soundtrack“the way a throat needs air —“not for the song, for the proof“that something was still moving through the room.“

Now I live alone and leave the radio on for the cat,“who doesn't care, who sleeps through everything,“and I tell myself that's why,“and some nights I even believe it.“