Spring 2009
Table of Contents - Vol. V, No. 1
Poetry Interview Translations Fiction Book Reviews
Paula Ray
A cappella
Had I lost you as a girl,
kitten purrs and blushing giggles,
I would have hidden beneath the front porch,
knelt in the sand, been your loyal mangy pet,
watching for the sight of your boots on the stairs.
Had I lost you as your bride,
still innocent and dressed in lace,
I would have tossed my veil into the sea
and followed it to a watery grave,
been your sacrifice, your Juliet, your Ophelia.
Had I lost you as the mother of your child,
my milk would have grown sour,
the cradle been still , and our infant's cries
would have drowned in the deluge
of tears pouring from my selfish eyes.
Had I lost you as an old woman,
leaning on you for each step,
relying on your sense of direction
to help me find my way home,
I would have wandered into traffic,
or been swept beneath the bridge, homeless.
I lost you in my prime, when dreams of being a mother
had faded, when my legs had grown strong enough
to stand alone, when I could see myself beyond
a vessel or a womb, when my voice was full and clear,
able to carry our song a cappella with perfect timing.
© Paula Ray