Can you hear the wind, Miranda?
The aspen scrapes the window
and the front-gate rattles on its bolt.
Needs must, I’ll stake the gladioli,
bring the flowerpots on the patio inside.
And then again, if I do not, what
does it matter? The sky won’t fall
nor the house blow down. Time
won’t stand still. Everything
will go on as before, so why bother?
You don’t hear me though, Miranda –
let alone the wind. Your mind elsewhere
these days. Time was, I could predict
your every thought – what you were just about
to say. Now I’m not sure you think anything at all.
So, let the aspen scrape the window and the front-gate
rattle on its bolt. Let the gladioli bend at the whim
of the wind. Let the pots all break, if they feel so inclined.
And shall I care, Miranda? No. All I care about
is here, inside this house, inside this very room.
I could toast muffins for tea, with eggs on top!
Would you like that Miranda? And do you love me,
still? The man you married some forty years ago.
But I could be anyone to you; a father, an uncle,
a friend or a brother, the man next door. Of that
I am all too aware. Why do I torture myself so?
Only touch my hand, Miranda, and I’ll know.
Comments
MistakenMagic | November 14, 2008 - 16:37
This is such a beautiful and moving poem Tina. I'm sure all too many people can relate to it. The idea that her husband could be anyone was an original and thought-provoking element that really added to the poem. I also loved the imagery of the flower pots.
Magic xxx
Silver Spun Sand | November 14, 2008 - 19:19
Thanks for reading,Magic and for your thought provoking words.
You mention the lady in the poem, and say, quite rightly, her husband could have been anybody.
Indeed, my dad cared for my mum for 10 years when she became ill with Alzheimers when they were both in their early fifties and at the time, little or nothing was known about the condition. Consequently he had to cope single-handed and their marriage became an empty shell. Life can be so cruel sometimes.
Tina xxx