My father and mother, two tiny figures, <br />side by side, facing the clouds that move <br />in from the Atlantic. August, '33. <br />The whole weight of the rain to come, the weight <br />of all that has fallen on their houses <br />gathers for a last onslaught, and yet they <br />hold, side by side, in the eye of memory. <br />What was she wearing, you ask, what did he <br />say to make the riding clouds hold their breath? <br />Our late August afternoons were chilly <br />in America, so I shall drape her throat <br />in a silken scarf above a black dress. <br /> <br />I could give her a rope of genuine pearls <br />as a gift for bearing my father's sons, <br />and let each pearl glow with a child's fire. <br />I could turn her toward you now with a smile <br />so that we might joy in her constancy, <br />I could bury the past in dust rising, <br />dense rain falling, and the absence of sky <br />so that you could turn this page and smile. <br />My father and mother, two tiny figures, <br />side by side, facing the clouds that move <br />in from the Atlantic. They are silent <br />under the whole weight of the rain to come.<br /><br />Philip Levine<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/clouds-above-the-sea/
