Woman
Mujer,
I heard you
crying
in the shower
while I was talking
with my sister
on the phone
last night—
not a little cry,
not a I stubbed my toe
on the shower’s edge
cry,
not a I lost my favorite
gecko earring
cry,
not a moan—
deeper,
a harmonic,
with roots
in Mexico,
with roots
in Spain & France,
with roots
in woman,
crying for lost
sons.
& I
was afraid,
as the sound
resonated
through the glass shower,
& through the floor,
into my feet,
wrapping itself
from the inside
around the bones,
holding me together,
making right
with creation,
so together,
man & woman,
we cry
for our lost
sons.
& I wanted to thank you,
woman,
as my sister & I
wrapped up our talk,
slipping from the real
into the millennium
& computer problems,
& said bye.