Linda Ronstadt’s Voice
It is the honey you add to the tea
when your own throat is sore
and your spirit needs soothing,
and it is the resonance that pours
out when the velum gently slips.
It is longing and sorrow and raw,
unfiltered vulnerability. It is a single
violet tourmaline, a pomegranate
split open to reveal a jewel box
of ruby arils, a streak of emerald
on the feather of a hummingbird.
The honey jar is empty now,
but the sweet balm will soothe
as long as we have recordings,
as long as we have memory.
Diane Elayne Dees
If you have any thoughts on this poem, Diane Elayne Dees
would be pleased to hear them.