Reader’s Poem


Wind of the Malibu Widow

Tonight over the Malibu mountains

The wind has become a widow keening.

Only a woman made mad with sorrow

Would use that tone to express her meaning.

In her passion she has rent her garments,

Tearing away her black scarf and dark veil.

Can you not hear the strength of her lament,

The might of her inconsolate travail?

Her obsidian eyes are weeping stars,

She’s frantic through an orphanage of caves.

Her man fell out of the sky and was drowned,

His body was found in the sunset waves.

She groans from her soul the source of her woe,

While conducting her band to crescendo;

The music of grief an ensemble of trees

Performs through the leaves by my window.

I cannot sleep through a passion that deep,

So I arise, and look out to the sea.

With griefs of my own I answer her moan:

Lady, now you are free, why not have me?

Michael Rider