Quaker Meeting

By: ailsaandlisa

Jun 27 2012

Category: poem, sonnet


The silence holds the air in place; its hooks
are hung with sounds he knows, from week to week.
Dock, dock: the clock makes sure that time goes by;
and there’s the cough, the handbag clasp, the mints.
A page is turned, legs crossed, uncrossed, stretched out.
A stomach rolls a drum. At quarter past
the children leave, relieved of hush. Without
their eyes and sighs the silence lightens, swells.
He sits, hands clasped, eyes closed; he breathes in, frowns.
A blackbird’s song flies in upon the draught.
The hooks dissolve, the noises lift away,
his heart beats loud and now he knows, as sure
as love, that there is something to be said:
it’s folded on his tongue. He stands. He speaks.


5 comments on “Quaker Meeting”

  1. I love this one Ailsa, and the beautiful photo is a perfect match.

  2. Beautiful photograph and poem.

  3. lovely – this brought back all those sunday meetings each an infinity to me and my sister; and the photo – we used to have some wooden shapes that made exactly this pattern.

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