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What the Wind Said
by Claire Harrison Morton

This morning I licked the westward cheek of a troubled mountain
flustered the leaves of a live oak
kissed my way along the high tide
grazed the curled petals of a rose

Tapping my fingers on his window
I woke a young boy in an attic room
reminded him a dream I whispered a round year ago
taught him what words are for with paper

While the sun flew the sky
catching horizons with long bright fingers
I found a sailboat alone
almost home to port
quivered its topsails with gulls and light

Soon I will shudder the rafters of the sanctimonious
Open the eyes of the dutiful
Wake up the neglected women and pull them from their homes
Like snails from their shells
Tear through their beautiful hair and make them wild again
Remind them
Why they live


 

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