Prayer to Ruth Stone
Look at what the tomatoes know,
sitting on the counter with the oranges:
When to rest, when to go,
who to share the ride. They answer
every question in repose. I envy them.
Now look what has happened
to my body:
The years strike harder in their swinging.
Here I am, my skimmer, trimming
the scum, cursing the stock. Age isn’t
mellowing the greed, only making it pant,
anxious to get the last drop out of every dream.
I wish I could be still, my soul
more amenable to silence, steps
that will be taken no matter the fuss.
What if I had loved it all better? Could I
fill the empty pocket, days already spent?
I come back to this desk again and again in effort.
If there is a ledger, take the strain of muscles
into account. I walk slowly through fields,
waiting for wind, the fierce, rushing gift of its passing.
I should have learned something
about absence. I know there is
an answer there, but I break it in wondering.
| Kelly Cockerham |
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