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Listen to your voice
by Kay D. Weeks

Those hangers hold my clothes, as I held pain,
yet dripping garments lighten as they dry
like storm-held anguish, now a gentle rain.

Six cotton angels summoning some wind;
soft signal hastening to stop the why
and listen to your voice, first time, again.

What sounds we heard, the rumbling of a train
and river-tears that darkened as we cried
like storm-held anguish, now a gentle rain.

Embedded in a pillow, heads had lain
so sweet asleep, then same awake; I try
to listen to your voice, first time, again.

I dreamed some bird–Egret, or leggy Crane
flew down to me, no sense of it, so why?
Abjure all storm-held anguish, feel the rain.

As day reveals us slowly, so the wane
of sleeplessness and pondering a sigh;
We rise to love and silencing all pain,
let go the storm-held anguish, feel the rain.

 

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