Work and Silence

by Grace Marie Grafton

She used to wash clothes in the yard.

“We put them in a huge

iron pot and built a fire

underneath and stirred them

with a stick.”

Sycamore leaves overhead

dried from the heat.

He hanged himself down by the river

on a branch. He was old

when he learned about his throat cancer.

Or was it of the nose?

Either stop eating or breathing.

Chose the warrior way out.

“He didn’t want

to bother us. It was right;

the children were so young

they took all my time.

Wouldn’t want them to see

their grandfather like that.”

Less and less

do I want to talk

unless like leaves new-green

rub against each other,

or the fins of fish

rudder through current.

Ravens have been in

the area. One perches on

the sawed-off valley oak,

mutters un-cawlike sounds.

Talking about its past?

* * * * *

Grace Marie Grafton’s most recent book, Jester, was published by Hip Pocket Press. Six collections of her poetry have been published.  Her poems won first prize in the Soul Making contest (PEN women, San Francisco), in the annual Bellingham Review contest, and The National Women's Book Association, Honorable Mention from Anderbo and Sycamore Review, and have twice been nominated for a Pushcart Prize.  Ms. Grafton has taught for decades with CA Poets in the Schools, and has been awarded twelve CA Arts Council grants for her teaching programs. Recent poems appear in Sin Fronteras, The Cortland Review, Canary, CA Quarterly, Askew, Fifth Wednesday Journal, Basalt and Mezzo Cammin.