Would they want me
\nto open their diaries, journals,
\nread their letters,
\nthese people of this house?
\nThe desk covered with forlorn light,
\nhistorical clocks, knickknacks.
\nTheir souls in the drawers,
\nin the clothes hanging limp
\nin the closet.<\/p>\n
What would I learn of them?
\nShould I excuse my curiosity?
\nI want something, but what?
\nWhy my life is wandering among theirs?
\nHow much should we know of anything?
\nDoes God intrude?
\nLook behind doors at the struggling soul?<\/p>\n
It is so hard,
\nan old woman might say,
\nto be spiritual,
\nto be good,
\nto live without guilt or regret.
\nAnd the man who loves her
\nwould nod,
\nand go spade the garden.
\nShe would go off to her poem,
\nto her letter,
\nfondle an old picture.<\/p>\n
Do I want to know that?
\nWhat she thought?
\nIt belongs to her life.
\nPerhaps even God turns away,
\nand in the Book of Judgment
\nleaves pages blank.
\nThese are my children.
\nThey are a part of me.
\nI respect their privacy.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"
Would they want me to open their diaries, journals, read their letters, these people of this house? The desk covered with forlorn light, historical clocks,…<\/p>\n