Today's poem is by Joe Weil
Not having been heard
as if a waterfall, invisible, yet ever roaring
had fallen between her and the world;
and having been seen only in her coat of motley,
she moved as a crooked thing moves
scrabbling, scuttling, the whole of her day
spent tripping over the knottiest roots;
and when she died, when the waterfall ceased
they heard her silence. This they filled
with their own voicethe common
tongue that licks the salt from prophets
until nothing is left but a stain.
She lived as one you might think harmlessly insane.
Catastrophe, she cried, Catastrophe
while the sea kept up its lifting and falling mood.
Catastrophecries the soulin solitude.
Copyright © 2016 Joe Weil All rights reserved
from A Night in Duluth
Reprinted by Verse Daily® with permission
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