Poetry: A Whisper for You

Here’s a new poem. You can scroll down to listen.

A Whisper for You

Last night I dreamed
my boys were fighting.
That was long ago, and yet
they are 10 or 11 again,
and one of them has hit or twisted
some part of the other’s body
so that he is curved into the wall.

A blade sudden as a ray of light
cuts heart-deep, and my own voice
rushes at me from across the room:
“I can’t do this anymore!”

They disappear, the boys—
it’s the alone that tells you
no one is coming—
walls and ceiling receding fast.

What is it you can’t do anymore—
stand by watching, hands dangling
or cupped and asking to be filled?

I reach across the rocking floor
seeking what it is that holds me here—
my dog’s soft ears,
her warm scent of a cared for animal,
the sweat that leaves
gray trails behind my child’s child’s knees—
yes, these are the things I’ll miss.

And you? What will you miss?
Tell me. I’m in no hurry
and am learning to listen underneath
when someone says
it doesn’t matter and all is well.