Lucille Cliftonsorrows
Lucile Clifton
who would believe them winged
who would believe they could be
beautiful who would believe
they could fall so in love with mortals
that they would attach themselves
as scars attach and ride the skin
sometimes we hear them in our dreams
rattling their skulls clicking
their bony fingers
they have heard me beseeching
as i whispered into my own
cupped hands enough not me again
but who can distinguish
one human voice
amid such choruses
of desire
Poet Lucille Clifton died February 13, 2010. She was 73.
This is the first I've read this poem. It is true that each of us falls in love with our own sorrow, that we hold sorrow like precious relics within the reliquaries of our bodies, make pilgrimages and offerings.
If you'd like to read more of Clifton's poems and biographical information, or lose yourself for an hour or two in the site's archives, search Poetry Foundation.
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