A crow wakens me
from a dream that you
found words I wrote in private.
Some groundhog far away
didn’t see his shadow, so
now crows pair off, dancing,
cawing, impressing mates for spring.
I sleep and dream
you found my journals.
I wonder if you read my stream
of consciousness, saw the flying
buttresses and spires of my heart,
sketches drawn on paper, then lost.
I don’t remember where I left them
that you found them,
so many words that I forgot I wrote.
I don’t understand
why you waited until
now, as I’m gathering
my things to leave,
to show me this, or
why my scribbled scraps
are mixed with yours
in wooden boxes,
a page of yours, a page of mine
still in your hand.
Do you care, I wonder.
Did you read them?
Were you annoyed
that somehow my words
fell in here with yours?
You don’t say and
I’m afraid to ask.
Are you as hesitant as I
to beg access to the heart
that played those parts
in other dreams,
that drew those things,
that strung those words?
I wonder what it is
you don’t say out loud.
Then I realize I’m awake
because I hear the crow.

Copyright © 2007 Barbara W. Klaser

5 comments on “Unspoken

  1. Helen McGill says:

    Lovely Barbara! You did it again! 🙂

  2. Marion says:

    Barbara, I love your writing…please don’t ever stop. It always touches a part of me…sometimes your writing is just what I need that day.

    Thank you for putting your words down here for me to read…I think you must have a direct cord to my heart!

  3. […] Aside from the novel, I’ve been reading, writing, learning about, and pretty much immersing myself in poetry. I’ve posted some bits and pieces, mostly practice and works in progress, over at Spirit Blooms in the Poetry Sketchbook category. Feel free to drop by there if you’re curious. Though I’ve taken creative writing workshops in the past, I’ve never taken a poetry workshop, and I think I have a lot to learn before I go even that far. Right now I’m refreshing my memory with basics that I learned when I was young but are now a bit fuzzy. […]

  4. […] I planned to post a poem, about posting work on the internet before it’s really finished. Ironically, that poem is not yet finished enough even to post unfinished. (See the category “Poetry Sketchbook” for my poems posted to date.) […]

  5. Barbara says:

    Helen and Marion — Thanks, you two. This one felt almost too real and personal to post. It came from a dream I had the night before and I woke up and just had to make a poem of it. The dream is still a mystery . . . as dreams usually are. The wooden boxes were like those an artist keeps paints and brushes in. I had another dream days earlier about taking a painting class, and then saw a seed sprout fall into a pot of dirt and take root. Maybe it’s my inner painter-artist telling my inner writer-artist that I need to do some painting. I haven’t in a while.