Sestina for Three Voices (Brown)
Sestina for Three Voices, by Rosellen Brown (1939-)
He said, “We do not love by word alone,”
And pulled the silence down around his voice
As though a sound could hurt him. Since those words
Became their own perverse, inviting promise,
She had to smile: “Then what is left to say
That you will listen to, except a kiss?”
He asked, “What thrives on silence like a kiss?”
But she retreated: “When I’m here alone,
I dream your voice.” (The clock beat on to say
“Now it is real.”) “But that is my own voice,
Reverberating through the room the promise
That you shall come to win me with those words.
“Well, you are here. You haven’t any words
But you have brought me some kind of speech — that kiss.”
The room was swirled in darkness like a promise,
A room in which one should not be alone
With ticking silences and gaping chairs. But her voice
Untangled shadows, cooled what warmth could say,
And froze his fingers to a fist. “Then say
Those prayers again if you like the sound of words,”
He answered weakly, in a grudging voice
That still preferred conversing in a kiss.
Back to the wall, he watched her stand alone
And dangerous with demands, the promise
Of arms as lure. He sighed: “What shall I promise?”
She had not quite imagined him to say
His line so stumblingly when she alone
Rehearsed then — these simplicities of words
Were faded in their force. “Upon this kiss,
I swear I love you.” The thinness of his voice!
The clock took up his whisper in a voice
Mockingly steady. Like its own great promise,
It spoke the hour as she received his kiss,
A shadowy bell, whose echo seemed to say,
“I swear I love. I love. I love.” The words
Were huge. She said, “Now I am not alone.”
The new hour held no promise but to say
This rote of words and leave his way alone.
Shame muted anger: his kiss had lost its voice.