I think of the children who will never know, intuitively, that a flower is a plant’s way of making love, or what silence sounds like, or that trees breathe out what we breathe in.
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for Linda Lee
A woman’s domain is the realm
of the invisible. That’s what she said
to me, we were drinking coffee,
about 7:30 in the morning,
the kids were groggy and bloated with sleep,
whining for their cereal.
She said, men go and build walls,
they love to see them standing against the sky,
solid, with a roof on. But women, she said,
we know that the roof will leak, someday
the walls fall down, so we put our faith
in the vacuum cleaner bags that we empty,
in the dirty dishwater swirling down the drain.
We wake slowly
from our interrupted sleep, savoring the confused
dream state which is actually less confusing
than the waking state. Let’s talk
about dreams, she said.
I told her mine, like I do
almost every morning, sunlight
slanting into the kitchen,
illuminating every mote of dust
floating through the air.
Karen S. Bard