Eyes holding her tears she has no need to release,
She wishes to hold them close and give away her peace.
Her face is old and wrinkled travels from time before,
Rising from her chair she hobbles to the door.
The rain had come. So, peaceful the sound on the tin,
Her rocker on the porch was calling her again.
Back and forth she rocks keeping time with the rain’s beat,
A tune from her lips and a tapping of her swollen feet.
She could not remember the words, could not even hum,
But her fingers tapped her chair like the beat of a drum.
She closed her eyes and drifted away saw his eyes of brown,
Turn away she thought turn away, please turn back around.
She did not want to see him, she could not handle the ache,
Go away my love, go back, calling you was a mistake.
He had been her life, her love, heart, and light,
What strength he held, her comfort in the night.
Arthritic fingers no longer held a drum’s beat,
The rhythm no longer tapped from her swollen feet.
The rain was dreary now the ache spread inside,
And there was no more holding her tears. She cried.
© Cynthia Clark