A lever. We lower
when we want to lift. She
grieves on social media, posting photos we
may or may not see. To see is
to stop. Droplets of water hang from a
brown railing. I use the phrase “corrugated tin” as much as I
can, my friend says, because I love the sound of it so much. Rain on
a tin roof turns light into sound. The
man who died sits behind
drums we cannot hear.
We keep memories more as
image than as sound; there is no ear book. Sound cannot stop
us; to
pluck out
a note would make rain of a
single drop. My
three-year old daughter
in the back seat yelled “traffics” on H1. I took care to repeat
the word without s. It made less sense that way.
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2 comments:
I love this. The only line that holds me back is "To see is to stop," which feels more device than a working line (maybe I see your hand too much with that line?) And I'm not sure you need it - poem moves along nicely without it. Love the rail with rain, corrugated tin, "traffics."
I like all the shifts in sound, from lower to lever, from stop to drops, but I especially like how the tin roof transforms light to sound, and how "traffics" really makes more sense than traffic when you're driving in it. Not to confuse it with "trafficking."
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