Sunday, February 27, 2011
Late Winter Delirium
My dreams ice at the edges when I get this tired.
They stand like winter stalks
Or dead brides,
Miles from the main road
Or any comforting verse.
See the hag, the hearse,
The hard frozen road and the half moon hanging--
Here is your baby girl you lost.
Here is your youth.
Here is your easy life in summertime, the crickets and clear stars,
The lavender and clean sheets,
All the things forgotten, disbelieved or denied.
Here is the basket with no bottom, and here is the hope of carrying them with you anyway.
Here is your heart--
We have saved it through the deepest freeze and weakest light.
I had made a heart of brown leaves and birds' nests, thundersnow and feathers.
A whole flock flies from it and still, it isn't mine.
I take the new one offered, as if it were strong and worth possessing.
If I have to feel my real heart, let me feel it plain--
My voice will crack the river as I scream.
Give it to me anyway,
I am too tired to fight.
Lie if you need to,
Tell me there is a Mother in Heaven, a Love in the Spring;
Tell me any mad tale that comes to mind--
That what God creates, she loves,
And does not leave behind.