from The Woman Who Couldn’t Describe A Thing If She Could By Mary Ruefle

a poem that combines my (apparent) love of poems about/with doors and poems that describe things in ways that seem, at first, absurd until you realize that’s exactly what they are

A thought is silent talking to yourself in your head. But you can still hear it. This is the number-one difference.  After the eating and the conversation, one of us gave money for these things. You just hand it over, and for a moment you can see it, it is moving from one hand to another hand and you can see it, it is paper. But it is not usually shown, most of the time you keep your money out of sight. It is hardly ever in the air. It is not like a necklace or something. But at such and such a time, you take it out and give some of it away. You never give your necklace away. All the same, a necklace is a sign of money. It just is. You show the sign that you have things hidden. It goes back and forth, like a conversation.  Two of us were wearing necklaces and two of us were not. That is a fact I added together later, so you would know.