Tears Among the Rain

The wind rumbles through the clouds
and swirls a hand through fields
of grasses overgrown 
with seeds of time.

The blackened sky casts shadows 
across the earth below
and teases trees that crave 
the taste of rain.

But no one hears 
the whistle of the wind 
through open doors 
and broken windows;

No one shudders to the bang 
of loosened clapboard 
on the walls or hears the hiss 
of missing shingles in the air.

There was a time when laughter
curled its hand around this house
and a mother's soothing hymn 
could calm the night,

And the promise of a great new world
he’d whispered in her ear across the sea
seemed as true as skies 
that stretched forever blue.

But the land was cruel on hardened hands;
the days grew weary from the toil
that clung like dust 
on sweat-drenched brows

Though he tried to bear the burden
he tilled his soul into the ground
and left her tears 
to rest upon his grave

Alone and broken like a twig,  
she tried to mend, 
planting memories by hand 
with tender fingers.

But the wind blew strongest 
on the day she turned her back,
leaving just her broken heart 
within those walls,

And no one hears the whistle 
of the wind through open doors 
and broken dreams watered 
by her tears among the rain. 


april 2005
©Janet Reid