Analysis of In your silence I find my voice

In the quietude of your presence
at first came unease;
that familiar itch of discomfort
enveloped me.

As I would peer in your eyes
searching for what to say
sleuthing for clues you'd never give away
I realize:
Words pleasing to your ears
are merely
a false sense of security
in seeing me get through my years.

So like a mold casts its void,
you knew in your silence I would find my own voice.

"Why?" I whispered at five
when we came across the fated bird on the street
"Why?" I ask again, in quarantine.
"Without death, there is no life"

I hear when I listen
Now I settle into the familiar itchiness
of finding my own wisdom
In time, your silence will make me, me.

-----
My dad was a man of few words. He passed away from COVID-19 in December 2020. I recall my first memorable confrontation with death occurred when my dad and I were walking outside of the hair salon my grandmother owned and my mom worked at. There was this dead bird, possibly a sparrow, outside the shop where the parking lot met the sidewalk. And I talked to my dad about death at that time. In many ways, my dad's proclivity for silence in his parenting style, and the topic of death have a unifying theme of dealing with discomfort, that in a backward way, I found brought me comfort in my grief.