The Storm

Margaret Calaway


I condemned my soul long distance last March

to let Him know how we’re singing-

Father helping more, the insecurities fading,

me taking a class with the family, feeling like

I’m inside of a glass tomb. My children

patiently eager for me to remember what I was saying,

then cheerfully leading me through the

terrible realization, wondering

if I  could explain the sorrows washing down. Suddenly,

none of us were listening.

I stood with the knowledge of my predicament,

talking to aliens on the rooftop

in my father’s mind, knowing an old bird

hanging up the music of darkness.