Summer 1996 • Vol. XVIII No. 3/4 PoetryJuly 1, 1996 |

Three Generations of Secrets

Is the sound of my loud carrying of life a knellfar across your small ocean? Do you sharethe secret that the months keep hidden there? Is my past-filled pregnancy a hungry shell? I think I will turn metal, like a bell, so you can clapper my voice out, to wherethe ring of memories will echo care and speak again. We'll sound our double spell,swinging; we'll swing back then, to forgive my mother's curve around the angry past—and then her mother's. They were smothered, boundin quiet. But we'll speak, and you will live, tolling and striking what we know at last, until you ring aloud with newer sounds.

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