Wrung Hands

It sounds like the words are underwater:
a conversation between two girls behind
about the passing of an uncle, a flight
to Detroit, announcements of place—
its not my stop for ten more stops, and the wind
doesn't carry the same rain as this morning,
in fact it doesn't carry rain at all.

What kind of travel will my feet make?
Away from last week's shattered car window,
toward a newer song (the chimes of doors closing
sound in time with music under headphones),
there may be no chorus, but this
refrain — let's not carry rain at all,
let's not carry rain, just let it fall.

Miranda Barnes

Miranda  is a poet recently graduated with a Master of Fine Arts in Writing from Spalding University in Louisville, Kentucky, and currently living and working in the city of Chicago, Illinois, (ironically, in finance). Her chapbook titled “Between Two Hours," as of yet unpublished, was completed as her creative thesis while at Spalding. She is  actively seeking publication.  She gave a reading at the Poetry Factory ( www.poetryfactory.com) in St. Joseph, Michigan, with other Chicago poets on Sunday, January 15, 2006, and will also be attending the AWP Conference in Austin, Texas, this coming March.