artwork: ralph murre
Was There a Poem ?
by
Ralph Murre
In
her dark hands that milked cows and made lace,
hands
that fixed tractors and wiped tears?
A
poem in the dark hands
that
built houses and kept them, that worked the earth
and
folded to a heaven she was sure of ?
Hands
that hammered out justice and
handed
out calloused caresses;
those
hands that labored at the piano,
but
changed flat tires with ease?
Was
there a song in her dark eyes
that
laughed easy, but cried hard;
eyes
that saw good wherever it hid?
Eyes
that struggled in darkness
to
read the verses and read them again
until
she saw light in the words?
A
song in the dark eyes that bid me welcome,
the
colorless eyes that I bid good-bye?
Was
there a portrait in her dark face?
- first published in Crude
Red Boat (Cross + Roads Press)
