by Claudia Lehman
The mutterings of war are in the north.
The winter has been bitter with our tears.
Now waken in the dark, and hear the rain
that pours down with the turning of the year.
On seeds of wheat and thistles, herbs and weeds,
on petty borders and barbed wire walls,
on rooftops of the unjust and the just,
while they are sleeping, ah it falls, it falls.
Hear winter weaken. Rain is older, older too
than tears and blood. Its purity pours down
on budding orchards, waiting battlefields.
Sit by the fire and listen to the sound.
Claudia Lehman lives in Păltiniş, Romania, with her favorite poet, Kyle, and their daughters, Josephine and Lucia. She loves teaching, old books, Earl Grey tea, wildflowers, and her comfort zone.
Photography by Kenneth Godoy