On Finally Blaming Myself a Little Finally

My porch upon the cliff, my house upon the mountain—

I push my sneaker between the roots of the maple,

remembering the gypsy moths, their wormy threats waving

from its branches, the low-flying planes that followed

with their heavy smoke dipping into us (my mouth, his mouth)

until, cotton-eyed and ragged, we circled each other in the dirt.

This is how I got him back: I bled myself against the tree,

I dressed in pink, I let someone else have him.

From the other side of the valley, cows peak through

the bare trees: a little moo shapes the forest, just for me.

Copyright © 2009 Maggie Glover All rights reserved
from Smartish Pace
Reprinted by Verse Daily® with permission