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Show YEARS 2, new section 3. She came to us like a wish out of the storm and led us through a house we did not recognize, through the wreckage and swirling dark of it, out into the rain-driven night louder than a scream, then down-the cellar, the very ground, the door shut and locked, one bare bulb sputtering on its wire. We checked the seals of years of jars, shelves of food lined in the sour dark, counted them, dusted them with our breath, anything to ignore the roar and crash of the world above us. Later, too tired to work, we sang. Huddled in the cellar, we sang together until the sun was high. Tonight the rain is falling gently in the dark, as if through the wind and dim of my past. The windows are still opened and the edges of the curtains above my desk are damp and hanging heavy. Whose voice do I hear, after all these years, calling through the roar of my memory? And why, though the rain and wind tonight are soft, do I still shudder thinking how easily these walls could crack and fall, this roof rise, how easily the trees, their leaves and many toys, could come crashing down and stay' |
