Two Women and the Rain
By Lindsay Rockwell
the rooks and hives have gone quiet what appears to be the ear of God is a small boy's palm catching the rain a woman begs to be felled by this rain the sound it makes silence gone drumming a cello lifts from a high up window there's a pool before the temple and she before the pool weeps in her scarf and shoes I lost my mother to a surgeon's slip hers to the sea smoke purls from a chimney winter's coming—the wait for sorrow she lost her mother to the sea mine to a surgeon's slip before the pool I weep in my scarf and shoes from the temple's high up window a cello lifts the sound it makes—gone silence I beg to be felled by this rain that soothes the boy his small palm mistaken for the ear of God the rooks and hives are quiet
Lindsay Rockwell is poet-in-residence for the Hartford Connecticut’s Episcopal Cathedral Church. She has recently published or forthcoming work in Poetry Northwest, Poet Lore, Tupelo Quarterly, Radar, SWWIM Every Day, among others. Her collection, Ghost Fires, was published by Main Street Rag, April 2023. She is the recipient of the Andrew Glaser Poetry Prize, fellowships from Vermont Studio Center, and Edith Wharton/The Mount residency.
04/10 / Poetry Reading and Conversation with visiting poet-in-residence Chloe Martinez and local poet Ximena Gómez / The BBar at The Betsy-South Beach, Miami Beach, FL / Live and Live-Streamed on Instagram Live/Facebook Live at @swwimmiami / 7-8:30 pm EST / Free
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This is a masterful poem, mesmerizing. I don't know this form, the way it moves from front to back, but it settled deep inside...
Haunting, and (as Angela remarked below) mesmerizing.