Noah's Wife

I married Noah knowing he was quiet—in the market or with our sons I spokefor both of us. Then God moved himto talk of cubits, gopherwood, and pitch,

the animals he'd save. Aboard the ark,I heard the cries our cargo made, shovelsmoving grain and dung, Noah giving orders.Once we landed, he told our sons to make

an offering, sent their wives for stonesand wood. He held our last full wineskinon his lap, said he'd been called to finda hill with rocky, arid soil, a grapevine

that survived. By day he tills the ground,tests the fruit, touches leaves with tender hands.At night, he takes more wine than food,sits late beside the fire, his voice so low

I can't make out the words. They soundlike worry—about the weather, our sons,whether God will keep His covenant.Each day I pray his silence will return.