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  November 2019
volume 16 number 2
-table of contents-
  home   (archived)
  featured poets
  Stefanie Bennett
  Jack G. Bowman
  Deborah Edler Brown
  Sir Mark Bruback
  Chella Courington
  Rich Follett
  Alex Hernandez
  Cynthia Linville
  Rick Lupert
  William Mohr
  Larissa Shmailo
  Michael Dwayne Smith
  Martin Willitts, Jr
  mailing list
Martin Willitts, Jr November 2019





Listening for the Voice that Seldom Speaks

She absorbed the immense tide of burgundy sunset
receding, an orange sun burning the center,
flaring out into the hemlock leaves
as a promise there will be more of this tomorrow.

She stood on a disappearing trail, waiting for a revelation
she expected to receive. But there was nothing —
no kind voice or soothing image or remorse
or fog rising due to the change in temperature.

She waited for clarification.
Then, she dejectedly went back through the spray
of white milkweed parachute-seeds
like spiraling constellations.

She felt emptied for something that did not exist.
She heard it would be different — all who were seeking
would find what they had sought. But all she knew
was the silence; not the patience of waiting and listening.

All movement, all migration, is a result of change —
whether bird flight when weather changes
or people fleeing war — seldom is this choice.
She couldn’t wait any longer; she went over the rise.

copyright 2019 Martin Willitts, Jr



How They Met

They stood under the bandstand roof
during a downpour pelting acorns,
strangers in dampening air
in the only shelter they could find quickly.

She shivered and clutched herself for warmth.
He took off his coat and spread it on her back.
Rain spumed off the roads. Rain sidewinded,
drenching them to their feverous bones.

Waiting it out was not an option.
Neither was making a mad dash for it.
Being in the headwind was more of the same —
a curtain of rain fell off the bandstand roof.

They would say this was how they met:
shuddering for bodily heat,
conversation whispering rain,
nursing each other afterwards, sharing soup.

He would claim it wasn’t accidental.
She would site the romance was a cloudburst.
The dripping clothes, the shared hot bath,
their storm under blankets, certainly helped.

There was music between them all this time.
Waiting it out had not been an option.

copyright 2019 Martin Willitts, Jr