Poetry Post #3

I write a lot of angry, sad, miserable poetry. Not because that's what I decided to write, but I am easily stirred to passionate attack. So, naturally, to get my attention, my wife Donna responded strongly to something I said. Innocent in my own mind, but also mindful of how innocence can be a mask on one's self, hiding if not guilt then laziness or plain old stupidity. ;) Below, the tale of a skilled marauder laying low, listening, discovering how peace is really made: with patience.

uh-oh.
I said something in a minor key,
but she heard something major, some bombast!
Words fly back at me like birds
disturbed from their feeding.

scattering, alarmed,
no common language between us for this moment.

I listen to her call of alarm and I
feel it in my chest, inflating me like some fool
who isn’t strong enough to listen to the
undercurrents, the breaths, the spasms,
a pool disturbed.

I watch--I want to respond, but I say nothing.
the flock that erupted from her chest
settles into my gentle evening light:
the sun must be behind me,
I see how her eyes glisten, her mind refocuses
and we talk about what we hold in common.

Descend, evening; soothe us
while we preen and nuzzle and sing.