You’ve got a brain that travels fast, fine trait
for novel links and sonnets built to last.
How could the roadside poplars know the car
was heating up with stirrings of new love?
But soon a swaying graced an embarkation
with wild encouragement; some sooty clouds
observed one grouchy morning silvered when
the check came in the mail; you read one day
that subtle minds lead lives of allegory
and it was uphill after that—to mounds
of radiant significance, bright peaks
where awkward flailing limbs were suddenly
adorned in velvet sleeves. But down, girl, down:
the journey to this place is full of hazards
much more than occupational: enjoy
the naked fact, the roses at the base
of the enormous mesa. Pause, and look
at all the moment’s colors. Breathe, or else
the precious ladder and the swift alembics
will turn on you: your vision in the woods
will go to seed from all the bells and whistles
you’ve stapled to the tossing trees; too much,
too soon, he’ll cry; your nooses are not nice;
I’m wearing socks, not hiking boots, today;
the strawberries I brought for lunch are ripe
because of sun, not us; if little rooms
are everywheres, the air gets awfully musty—
at which dire words you cower and look frightened,
twirling your eternal golden braids.
from Silver RosesFind it in the library
Copyright © Persea Books 2010
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on behalf of Persea Books.