From the Atlantic
NOON
A poem for Sunday. By Li-Young Lee
APRIL 28, 2024
The tall curtains billow
with presences coming and going, impossible
to confirm.
Whispered voices congregate at noon.
Is there any word from the Lord?
Is there any word from the dead?
Is there any word from the dying?
Is there any word from the living?
The curtains rise and fall like wings.
Is the room about to lift off the earth?
Noon is crowded with voices.
Is there any word from the Lord?
You were born speaking the language of the dying:
I want. I need. Not enough. Give me.
When will you learn the language of the living?
Is there any word from the dead?
You haven’t changed at all, says my father.
When you were little,
each time you learned a new word
you couldn’t wait to repeat it to me.
Now you’re old
and you still can’t wait to talk to me.
Tell me, has your love of the world survived
your knowledge of the world?
You’ve changed so much, says my mother.
When you thought no one was listening,
you used to sing.
Your response to this eerie poem, is more deeply moving, to me, than the poem-prompt. I love it all, but that last mon-observation brings tears my eyes. I think we all sing when we think no one is listening, but the way you lines couched in ghost like characters of mom and dad is really enlivening!
The whole post is the poem. My response is still in my notebook.
oooh man I thought it was the same prompt I did in workshop, but this was your response. Lordy. My brain must mayonnaise.
Has my love for the world survived my knowledge of the world? Good question
Truly.
This took my breath away. Simply excellent!
“Now you’re old and you still can’t wait to talk to me”…how I feel about my mom…a lot lately.
And of course the singing…voice trails off…
Thank you for sharing this Dee.
I wonder why lately? Is it a time of year or time of life thing do you think?