List
One thing I will miss follows another
and I end up running out of fingers as I count them off—
to have thoughts transparent, to see through to the other side
to have a memory crystallize
as a seed of dust in a cloud
turns heavy with water,
to have love become something I can tuck into a fist,
or hide under my tongue,
the nitroglycerin to quiet the unsteady heart,
to have this word catch the light, but like a piece of turned sea glass
not enough to cut, but curved into a finger of what once held wine,
a drink, another spell, in another lifetime.
we are blessed when there is something to hold on to
a latch to keep the darkness out, a pin to hold the seam in place for stitching,
the bead to safely hold another from slipping, rolling lost.
the hands are freed by such gestures against.
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| Untitled by Elmer Castigador Grampon |
Leaving Iowa
There are drawers full of purple and red
rubber bands,
each one too precious to throw away
after pulling them free of newspapers
or broccoli bundles.
My ballpoint pens are still
half full of ink.
One of them has a perfect poem
inside it.
Warm wool sweaters, hand knitted
and completely impractical
where I am going,
curl up in my closet
and purr. My leg warmers snarl.
Coming to this country,
we never planned to stay,
never bought anything new
or nice.
Now that we’re leaving,
every fork has a name.
❦