Wednesday, March 30, 2022

Saints

I hesitate 

      but make myself do it.


I place my ear on your pillow

     at 8:32 PM,


the exact moment 

     of your ascent 


a year ago tonight.

     Yes––ascent––a propulsion


I listen for. 

     A gust of wind 


lifting lifting lifting 

     your wholeness


––mustache and thick curls, 

     perfect teeth, long legs––and, of course 


your bel canto trumpet,

     setting your completeness 


down onto the 

     unendingness


of saints marching in, 

     of brass bands 


and beautiful solos, 

     your trumpet blaring, 


your cuff links 

       gleaming. 


Monday, March 28, 2022

When my man’s hand guides my elbow up the stairs because I have grown unused to being upright (2021 Jane Underwood Poetry Prize Semifinalist


Because I have not slept a full night 

     since Spring, 

have not eaten through my mouth 

    in a season.  


The kitchen looks the same. 

   His mother sets the table, 

the kids sit down to eat


just as they did

      that night I bolt 

 to the ER. 


Now the man I married 

     pulls out a chair, teaches

me how to bend again. 


And I begin to sob 

     at the deep beauty 

of sitting 

      at that table.  


Because I have lived so long 

     as a clam flipped 

on her shell.  


Because in the bleached light 

     of my hospital room,

the scream of machines 

     do not cease, 


I think of all the things I will do 

     if I make it home again.  


First I’ll subscribe 

     to Gourmet magazine, 

learn to cook—embolden


     herbs with my love. 

     I will infuse the world’s oils 

with my devotion. 


   In the garden, I will tear at the ground 

         With both hands and birth 

   more trees 

        and they will include apple, cherry, plumb



and the scent of lemons 

     will besiege the windows 

of the house.


And there will be many red flowers

    to beguile more hummingbirds.


And each morning I’ll gulp down 

     the sun in one breath,


Starting with that first dawn 

    When I am home again.