Contributor Series 9: If Men Had Ears
Through Me
By Maureen Donatelli
They each moved through me
as music moves through air,
gathering inside themselves
the blood of my body,
the milky fluidity of my breath,
the syncopations of my heart.
I hear their small voices
the rise and fall, rise and fall,
their airy laughter,
like bells ringing in the garden,
falling between
morning bird song
and the lush kiss
of soft warming breezes
twirling the silver cottonwood leaves,
sending white sunlight dancing
over the dew crystalled grass.
I close my eyes.
I hear my children.
Music moving through me.
Moving through me.
Moving through me.
Maureen Donatelli’s most recent poem to appear here was What Have You on Sunday Afternoon (June 2011).
Lovely imagery.