This poem is entitled "Silence," which was feature on one of my favorite sites, Poets.org.
by Marianne Moore
My father used to say,
"Superior people never make long visits,
have to be shown Longfellow's grave
or the glass flowers at Harvard.
Self-reliant like the cat—
that takes its prey to privacy,
the mouse's limp tail hanging like a shoelace from its mouth—
they sometimes enjoy solitude,
and can be robbed of speech
by speech which has delighted them.
The deepest feeling always shows itself in silence;
not in silence, but restraint."
Nor was he insincere in saying, "Make my house your inn."
Inns are not residences.
Yesterday I was reading "Fire on Her Tongue - an eBook Anthology of Contemporary Women's Poetry" while on the elliptical. (I love new my Kindle Fire.) I was looking for a poem to share with the Pilates class I was about to teach, and settled on "Southern Comfort," by Nin Andrews. If you haven't read this wonderful anthology, I would definitely check it out. So, so good.