Sometimes We Cry
SOMETIMES WE CRY
On the city’s main street, wind blows things
up and out of the gutter, half litter, half leaves.
It’s winter now, January. Sitting in the coffee shop
I hear “Sometimes We Cry.” Van Morrison’s voice
scrapes the inside of my skin as it always does.
We have a past, he and I, this song and me.
I played it over and over one October morning,
years ago, as I drove toward a funeral.
The windshield wipers put me in a trance,
rain blurred the road,
Morrison broke my heart.
Today, looking out the window, I watch the wind
rearrange the world. I listen to the music without
tears, but the gray sky could drop rain at any minute,
and this saxophone solo is nothing but old sorrow,
a weight around my neck.
~ Cheryl Unruh