Elegy Composed in the New York Botanical Garden
Catmint—tubular, lavender, an ointment
to blur the scar, bloom the skin. My mouth has begun
the hunt for words that heal.
In the garden, I am startled by a cluster
of sun-colored petals marked, Radiation.
Piles of radiation. Orange radiation, huddled together
like families bound by a hospital-bright morning.
And behind them: a force of yuccas
called Golden Swords. A bush or mound
of sheath-like leaves sprouting from a proud center.
And isn’t that the plot?
First the radiation, then the golden sword.
I remember, incurably,
your mother. The laughter that flowered
from her lips. I’m sorry I have no good words
to honor her war. It crumbled me to watch you
overwhelmed by her face
in the daffodils outside your childhood home.
|Jul 25, 2014||How to Love||January Gill O'Neil|
|Jul 24, 2014||Forty-Seven Minutes||Nick Flynn|
|Jul 23, 2014||Epiphenomenon||Karen Skolfield|
|Jul 22, 2014||understory (week 35)||Craig Santos Perez|
|Jul 21, 2014||Q||Hannah Sanghee Park|
|Jul 20, 2014||The Answer||Sara Teasdale|
|Jul 19, 2014||Appellate Jurisdiction||Marianne Moore|
|Jul 18, 2014||The Wall Hanging I Never Noticed||Dorothea Lasky|
|Jul 17, 2014||remembering; and with the aid of; ventilation; and production; the poem||Christian Hawkey|
|Jul 16, 2014||Suffering the Unattainable||David Dodd Lee|