Having a friend who is a psychoanalyst made me twig to this passage (and some recollection of the figure of silence in her early poetry) …

If I weren’t a writer part of me would become a psychiatrist so that listening would still be the biggest part of my job. In that alternate vocation I would heal most deeply through my silence. Relying on the spoken to understand feelings and not on reconstructions of reality from my notes. No more notes.

Canadian Poetry Online reproduces a piece from Brick as her writing philosophy.

Mary di Michele. “What I’d be if I were not a writer,” Brick, Fall 1994. p. 19

It just so happens that I had previously noticed on the appearance of the figure of silence in a fragment of a poem and am now content to realize it’s added significance:

And so for day 2707

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