Today's poem is by Julie Funderburk
First, my boot heels sank.
Then the ground required more
and I was lying in the damp field
passing around a silver flask
becoming light with whisky
but heavy beside the two men I loved.
A night of friends and their singing
to an October bonfire by morning
it would appear just a blackened space,
this sending forth of countless sparks
and each impulsively alive, unashamed
to glow its panic
against the backdrop of sky.
Here the air carried my impossibilities,
sharp like the cold, thin but rich
with hickory smoke, the unsustainable
a surge when the logs shifted and cinders
flew, burning for everywhere
at once. The arc of red energy
while it lasted all I would give
that shape in the field, so awake
to its pressure, the sinking denim,
cuff of flannel almost touching
the one I would not touch,
this drawing down, my impress
deepening it would outlast me there,
this form I left in the field.
Copyright © 2004 Julie Funderburk All rights reserved
from 32 Poems
Reprinted by Verse Daily® with permission
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