Issue 15
Rain
Janet I. Buck
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Silent Bells
Muggy rain is suited to
the soggy waltz of grief possessed.
I tried to walk these stairs before --
tried and failed like
church bells without arms.
It's warm up here, cloying warm
in an attic I thought I'd only pass
with the wave of a hand
if ever I went heavenward.
Two winters, two springs,
two summers, two falls --
I put off the job of saying goodbye
for two corrosive years.
I watch as aphids crawl a rose
outside a window cracked for air.
Maybe silence festers things.
All our rites of loving in the first degree
come back to haunt in grainy flecks
of bubble bath, their scents
now barely hanging on --
back in mothballs tied to sweaters
bagged and stored --
back in cobra strings of pearls
too tiny for my swollen neck,
back in poppled photographs.
Rusty hinges of the chest
whine with bitter endings now.
Like old potatoes in a bag,
I'm growing eyes by accident.
The fact of rain just dominates,
Laodicean months in wells --
full and spilling over dust.
~Janet I. Buck
Janet I. Buck is a six-time Pushcart Nominee and her poetry has recently
appeared in The Pedestal Magazine, OffCourse, Octavo, and dozens of
journals worldwide. Email.
© 2004 by Janet I. Buck. All Rights Reserved.
© Copyright 2004 by Cayuse Press. All Rights Reserved.