Today's poem is by Pamela Gemin
All over my city, on streets named for trees
and presidents, lawns have come back, dotted
with violets and tulip cups.
Days when one foot would not
follow the other, days when the dishes
lay cool in the sink, days
when I knew I'd die, I wanted
to stretch face down on lawns like these, the taste
of green blades in my mouth, stained
ankles twisting. A Saturday father might
find a soft bump in the leaves beneath his rake tines.
Mealy bone he sprinkled to the lilies might be mine.
Days when I knew the widths and lengths
of every stray feather, every dead yardbird's claw,
the full perimeter of fear, would he have sniffed
the air and fenced me out? Or cranked on the sprinklers
and wrapped a sweet twine of myrtle around my throat,
then let the fat robins rain down.
Copyright © 2009 Pamela Gemin All rights reserved
from Another Creature
The University of Arkansas Press
Reprinted by Verse Daily® with permission
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