MADRUGADA

Who was it called me from deep sleep
In the early hour of this morning
While my wife lay still beside me
And the dog snored evenly across the room
And the gentle rain murmured
In the trees around the house?

Whose voice was it saying my name
Out loud so I woke and said, “What?”
The voice familiar yet strange
Saying just the name, no more,
The way my Mother would say it
Or my Father, but a woman’s voice,
The intonation intimate, confidential,
Alerting me to some turn of events,
Something I should pay attention to...
But not in panic, not in fear, not in haste?

Who speaks, not whispers, but says
Out loud at half past four in the morning
Nothing more than my name, just that?
Is it some female part of me,
Some voice that dare not show itself in daylight?
Is it God?
Did St. Augustine hear only that much...
His name? Nothing more?
Poor Joan of Arc...
No more than that to go on?
No explanation?

Whatever or whoever it is that disturbs my sleep
Has alerted me, has given a sign,
Has said this room I live in all alone
Has doors I cannot lock.