Lori Lieberman
What kind of trees could I call these
That wouldn’t hide the smallest me
Like silken threads, they webbed
Across a pearl-grey sky
What kind of rain was this that fell
Like secrets you could never tell
But in my dreams I know
I nearly said good-bye
I ride my bike at nine years old
Through even streets and fields of corn
My mother waits, the sun goes down
With half my heart the wheels go round
I ride beside the swollen stream
Where there is no reflection of me
And I know I’m safe at last
Far from my home of whispers
The further I ride
The farther I get
The wind in my hair
The noise in my head
Where were the eyes that wouldn’t see
What were the truths we couldn’t speak
How many tears were never cried
Caught in the years and lost in time
I’ll call my children from the yard
They’ll hold me safely in their arms
And I swear with all my heart
They’ll never know a home of whispers
The further they run
The farther they’ll get
The wind in their hair
The dreams in their beds
Their beds…
What kind of trees could I call these
That wouldn’t hide the smallest thing
What kind of rain was this that fell
When will I ever know myself
