Sometimes
In autumn at the equinox when the stars
Shake out of sockets, when the trees strain their bows
As if to find a place to hide.
Beating staccato, and arpeggio onto the wall,
When gardens slump;
Their copper chrysanthemums crumpling.
And the scented pines
Are browning on their branches
When daisies darken into mud
Converting into mulch,
I live to see the summer die,
And you return
I listen
To the raindrops throw the proof rocks questions
On the pane and think it means that you
Are calling me, sending messages by rain.
A water baby tune. Pressing close against the
Cool glass I trace the raindrop stains and try
To answer you.
At night
When hour and minute hands align past twelve,
When the last number nine bus gears grind up the hill
There is a whispering a brushing of the cedar limbs
Beside my sill. I drift out among the sway
To find who lingers by the eaves. It is my twin.
I find you
In the storm, in a sudden rushing of the wind.
A water baby tune.
Now that my love is old enough to mother
I touch your angry mouth, puzzled eyes,
Caress my Lynnie my doctor holiday.
I kiss the image of my death.
We comfort in the rain.
Written for an assignment at school on May 30, 1963; the mother’s relationship to her youngest child, the person who perpetuates and stands in for you after you die, ie. the image of your death.
Created without AI or word processing.
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