Syllable

A poem about a name whispered into the rain.

By Isidora LunaPublished 6 days ago • 1 min read

I whispered your name.
Your name: only two syllables.
Rain fell between them,
and all my ruin with it.

The first fell
upon the freshly turned earth.
The second
bit my tongue.

A raven came down to the garden.
It pecked at the rain.
Then looked at the earth.

The raven spread its wings.
I opened my mouth.

And whispered once more
that syllable of yours,
the one that smells
of freshly turned earth.

One syllable.
Then
the raven died.

Your name was only two syllables.
So short.
It took me half a lifetime to forget it.

Writter & Poet

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