Today's poem is by John Gallaher
They are speaking in the other room,
about the family. They are speaking,
and weren't the families over
and roiling. Didn't the families take off
and return, and in returning,
These were the first stories told me.
And wasn't I harder then, more
in need of explicating.
Wasn't it something for the mind
at the top of the stairs, where the children sit,
In the doorways they bend behind,
didn't the families sound like crumpling paper,
like cedar in the fireplace,
and the white doors to the kitchen.
Weren't all the doors open then,
to the yard, to the trees this way
in the wind.
Didn't their singing please you.
And isn't pleasing something only seasons do.
A bit of wind in the trees.
They are closing the windows. They are
speaking in the other room,
about the family.
Weren't the children up
about the chandelier.
Didn't they find the chimney
Copyright © 2007 John Gallaher All rights reserved
from West Branch
Reprinted by Verse Daily® with permission
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