Today's poem is by Patricia Hill
My mother calls for me and the corn falls down.
My husband presses me to his dark face, his hot
mouth. I am eating the blood seeds
because I want to. So much
is different for me now. My mouth
burns from knowing what it didn't before.
I wonder now at the shape of geese flying,
that warlike wedge. Back and forth. Will they
never land? I hear balloons cracking; a door slams. Another
bird has something to sing about. They say
darkness has its own illumination. I see nothing
I don't want to see, and a great deal more.
I see the eye turnedsothere is always enough
light to see that. I see air moving across
the table, and the chair all unperturbed.
When I close my eyes, I see
a window, open. I want to know how
it all came aboutthis being lost and
looked for and not found. One minute
gathering red flowers on a hill, the next
plunging straight down, my hair hanging above me
as the blue sky snapped shut and my feet hit granite.
Now I want nothing, or nothing more
than a cool wind. Or a flat stone by a river, tinged
with moss, the pungent mud pocked with flies and me
waist high in the razor grass watching the cranes, so white,
as they fall to ground. Down
here the earth is in constant
complaint. There is no moment here
which does not have its say. But
I feel settled. What's done is done.
My husband has his work, as I have mine.
We speak, or not. I pretend to
pour tea, hot rivulets. I reach to touch
the luminous scar at the top of my world.
If he regrets his choice, he does not say.
Copyright © 2002 Patricia Hill All rights reserved
Reprinted by Verse Daily® with permission
Support Verse Daily
Verse Daily's very generous sponsors:
Sponsor Verse Daily!
Web Monthly Features
About Verse Daily
Contact Verse Daily
Publications Noted & Received
Copyright © 2002 Verse Daily
All Rights Reserved
Copyright © 2002 Verse Daily All Rights Reserved
[an error occurred while processing this directive]