Through the Keyhole

by Mimi White

Amazed a tree could grow in the sky,
shoots about to burst,
supple, tender.

Sleep had sealed lost prayers,
sibilant, forgotten words
from childhood.

Then the sound of rain,
galaxies of sound,
scribbled on dark slates,
entered the map
of my brain open
to what has no name,

a crescendo of lost dots,
shadows at the dinner table,
mother in the kitchen,
father on a long, long walk

and the quick tale
of memory squeezing
through the keyhole.