From Her Aural Rune
Her melody floats in evanescence,
as the child in me hushes beneath
needles of rain… yet we sashay
in an evening drenched with a quiver,
as Mom listens to harsh tap- tapping
on the attic. She observes the gentle crack
through my voice noticing a slight fear
while the gale rouses into louder howls…
Calmly,a tinder box of notes spills on Mama's piano,
as she perceives keenly and waits for
the explosion of stars opening up—to bounce
unto the window… finally reddening, drying the night.
And her instinct feels the pull to soothe
my breath: this aural rune gently spun as we tuck
ourselves headlong within a quilt
of our dwelling, where the maternal language
from her own innate sound
need not—through rain— be as told in words.
.............
Craig Cornish's A Mother's Ears
5/11/2015
Copyright © Nette Onclaud | Year Posted 2015
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