If Silence Is Golden

She walks in to the room
hesitantly, ready to turn and run
back the way she came.
In her mind an old expression
about being once bitten dances a hornpipe.
She checks the corners
looking for the face that is
forever lost in shadows.
Hair raises on the nape of her neck
as she senses someone behind her,
but when she turns, there is no one,
just an empty space where,
perhaps only moments ago,
someone stood, eyes gleaming,
teeth showing in a mocking grin.
Heart beating faster, she moves across the room
to the safety of her far corner.
Sits in the old, worn and torn recliner
and watches the other people,
listens to snatches of conversation,
imagines what it would be like be a part
of the mingling crowd.
She begins to say something to a passerby,
but stops, the words half formed.
She thinks to herself
'If silence is golden, I must be
wealthy beyond compare.'
Again she tries, and again, stops.
This is so hard.
She can't believe that she is reduced to
a silence that can't be broken.
She shakes her head, gets up from the chair
and walks to the door.
With a last look back at the busy room,
she steps out and lets the door close behind her.