There is a universal hush.
a heart-wrought sigh
taking place daily.
an aching, weighing, head-throbbing, moan.
A wailing of the world, yet
let me concentrate on
every melodramatic motion of man—
weigh the mind, change in haste, ‘til
the sun rises and sets on our own apprehensions.
With a rag
we wipe, gather and tighten ‘til
a drip forms
into the cup of
(Who can be satisfied with such a ration when
as children we sipped a breast
that promised river and ocean?)
the pea-sized pool sits
with us in the heat,
as we look,
and strain toward,
the things we’re apprehending.
(our Mother, she weeps for our leaving)
Post a Comment