Middle Ages

Middle Ages

Mary Brown

When the children leave with their tiny toys tucked into the pockets
of their pants, their joy tripping them out the door, onto the porch,
we go straight to the couch, our heads throbbing a little though
we already miss the mess we haven’t yet touched, but know we must.

We need this quieter house now, our normal loneliness turned into some
low hum we are at a loss to name. We are too fatigued to speak.

When the world was younger, outlines of things were clearly drawn: joy
(the only energy) was set apart from sorrow with a stripe as wide as
night. But now that we know neon, we cannot imagine a dark village.

Now the world’s white noise makes silence the old news we no longer
remember, the faint ache of what remains of pain or ecstasy. We
are confused by dawn, by dusk.

When the dark came 1000 years ago, the children gave up
their energy to night, and in early morning when the church bells rang, everyone
was awake, everyone rested, and everyone knew to listen.

---

Mary Brown
Poet

Mary is a retired professor living in Anderson, Indiana.  Her work appears on the Poetry Foundation and American Life in Poetry websites and has been published most recently in Christian Century, Big Wing Review, and Stormwash. She is the poetry editor of Flying Island.  

Painting by Eliphalet Fraser Andrews