Last night I heard the howling again.
The coyote's yes, in their midnight sojourn for supper
and wild cacophony of yipes and shrieks,
but that's not the howling I speak of;
the howling that haunts me comes from a deep,
lonely place inside of me.
I try to hide from it but it finds me,
it always finds me.
I heard it coming for me a few days ago
when a friend boarded a plane for India
and headed toward that mysterious place.
My sister went to India
because she wanted to be healed,
but instead she died there.
I never saw her again.
When I last spoke to her
it was over a scratchy telephone line
in the middle of the night.
She sang to me a morphine induced aria
from an opera I had never heard,
but I wish now I could remember those words.
And there it is again, that howling.
Can you hear it?
© Copyright 2016 E Cluff. All rights reserved.
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