Sound Box
Cooper Esteban

The day I took it up again
It rattled like a gourd
Even the vapors on
The riverbank could not invade.
I counted every seed

Until the women at their bath
Grew still. The water shirred
Away like an eel's teeth.
Am I now a ghost? I murmured,
So nearly had they heard

My recitation. Neither lyre
Nor lyre's echo could hide
That woe--a thousand year
Silence, nothing but wind in bud,
So easily ended.

And the women at their bath, nude
Except for water, rushed
To dress on the warm sand,
Damp hair and cotton cloth married
With slyer notations than milkweed.

1996 © 2003