Lou – letter #5 (a poem)
Dear Lou (letter #5)
Lou,
I don’t know if I trust
you anymore. The way those blackbirds
fell upon the trees thick enough
to block the sun, all I could see
were wings, the whir
of feathers, their shrill echo
a language undecipherable
to my ears.
And that one, Lou, you know
the one. The snow
of it’s belly, a star shining amongst
the frantic dark. Was he an angel, Lou? Did
you send him there with warnings, the whisper
of his wings beating in my ears,
urging my heart to uneven ground? Was
he there to sing the sun back
into the sky?
Or was he too lost, Lou? Unable to wing
his way back home?
It is always like this though, isn’t it?
You, sitting silent, the deliberate quilt upon your lap,
unfolding square, by patchwork square.
Me, in the hayfield turning stones, searching
for needles to stitch myself into my own
story, never knowing it already began
without me.