Saturday, 23 January 2016

Part 1

When we were little
we were told to go play
which never really seemed to be a problem
when surrounded by cousins
But still
there's something about being excluded
that fascinates
especially as children
when it involves our mothers.

And so it would be
that as we played
childhood games of hide and seek
tireless monopoly
and treasure hunts
our soundtrack became the sound of them
in the kitchen
the soprano of their voices
by the staccato of their laughter
in what seemed like endless joy between them
and we the knew the sound that love made

She is gone now
the sister of my mother
fading into vague memories as the days pass
with out her
sitting at the table with my mother

Part 2

We live in a house with straw walls
The wind can howl and rage outside
but this house stands still
as if to rebel
the ceilings and floors between bedrooms
let sounds and light pass through
The comings and goings of the four who live here
and those that visit too
are never secret

It is a recipe for interrupted intimacy
and recognition of an individual by sound of breath alone
The instant knowing when things are awry
or something is new

I like to think it is a gift I'll give my sons
That the soundtrack of their childhood will be
the deep avalanche timber of my loves voice
alongside the higher melody of mine
and the staccato sound of our laughter
like endless joy between us
and they will know the sound
that love makes