In the heat, in the high grass
their knees touched as they sat
crosslegged facing each other,
a lightness and a brittleness
in their bodies. They touched
like shells. How odd
that I should watch them say goodbye.
What did it have to do with me?
There was my own stillness
and the wasps and the tiny flies
for a long time taking stitches
in the surrounding air and
a comfort I felt, as the wind
tore through, to find the trees
miraculously regaining their balance.
|"Shells" from Not To: New & Selected Poems, published by The Sheep Meadow Press. Copyright © 2006 by Elaine Terranova. Used by permission. All rights reserved.|