The Conversation Poem

Boxes and bags in an empty room, nothing left there of love or grace,
Just an emptiness waiting to begin to leave
until a shadow crosses the doorsill, and one dares to invade  her
aloneness.
'I got something to say to you girl'
Silent, head bowed still, aching and frozen, nothing to be said.
'He told us to expect your leaving, but he gave me some words to say
before you was gone
Say it and be done then she thought but did not say.
Sees him reach out to touch her, and wills his hand to stop, wanting
nothing to invade her grief
stop he does, and turning away, clears his throat.
' You dishonor him by turning hard and cold like this, he wanted me to warn
you of that, and he wanted me to remind of your dancing, and the light.'
Flinching then, she turns away, feeling something heavy and cold twist
inside her.
'Yeah, he told me about that sis.'
And quiet a moment, they both hear a tiny break, or a crumbling away, and
she looks up for just a moment, to see him there, watching.
Looking down at her hands again, she silently gives him permission to speak.
'He wasnt much of a man for words, but he told me about your dancing,
you know that day,
when you left the camp and went down to the river to wash the muck
away.
He never knew what set you dancing, there, by the water when the sun
down
but he saw, he saw.'
Glancing up for just a moment, 'What did he see?'
He saw your dancing, not that he hadnt seen you dancing at a dozen or
more powwows, he had.
No he saw you dancing your woman dance, the kind every woman has
inside her but most never find
And he heard you laugh the kind of laugh that he didn't think was in
you, rich and deep and unafraid.
He saw the light playing around you, and he swore when he told me
that he thinks it was coming from you as well.'
'If there was light, it was coming from him' was all she said.
'And you think that light died too?' he asked, leaning closer.
For answer she lowered her head.
'Well that light ain't dead if you don't kill it sis, you gonna
dishonor his love like that?'
And then he left.

Night, wasted in pacing,
lighting one cigarette off another-
gagging on the menthol-
but smoking still, needing.
Something...anything,
to still the howling inside;
keep it from spilling past her lips.

All the lights out inside,
so not to wake the sleeping child,
pacing, pacing, smoking still,
silence reigning outside
the screaming locked down tight.
Avoiding cruel Morpheus on these nights
fearful of his sadistic embrace.

Lighting yet another cigarette
turning to peer out a window
watching the wind rise up to disturb the trees
branches writhing across the face of the moon.
Impelled, going out to join the dance
overcome, finally weeping,
back inside, sighing, sleeping;
but still no resolution.
-Galeshka