Mud Town

© Margaret Wesseling

We went to sleep

you and I in her bed

in your mother’s house.

Outside it rained and dogs

barked. In the discussion room

people were forceful and elegant.

I decided many futures, decided

to sleep longer.

In the light box under the covers

under the ceiling in the rain

in the little mud town.

Next to the wall the tree waited

and waited, tapped and tapped.

Water settled on the leaves.

The wind moved, the wind stirred

the water. The tree was cold.

The air around the house was cold

the full air

full of its own breath

of the moisture of its breathing.

A man was walking the roads

outside the town. Mud from the roads

stuck to his feet. Wind stirred

the rain on his shoulders. His feet

tapped the wet ground.

My mind asleep to the sound

of his feet, of the leaves of the wet air

and the rain decided futures, decided

he would be in the light box.