I've picked up a few things
        after C.D. Wright

I've picked up a few things, I know if you want to see a forest, they say to
separate each tree from its sapling and every sapling from its seed, and so
on. I know the difference between fireworks and gunfire, that a man can
drown on dry land. And I know sooner or later we'll get to talking. We'll
move through tall grass and miss each other, continually, every morning, as
if pushing through gold conveyors. But it's not that kind of story; it never was.
How many times have I woken to the sound of tearing paper. How many
M-shaped wings have I seen collapsed. We didn't know how to cup the water
and keep it there. I know if I want to remember your face, to boil the soured
meat twice; when I don't, to throw away the broth. I wanted to show you I
could step over the needle and never get it caught in my foot. It's like the
day when you don't make your bed. When everything pulls up in a fistful of "
roots. I've picked up on how to walk past pomegranates threatening descent.
I've picked up on how to see your body everywhere, following me, a hue
of blue the painter would spend the last of her money for. But that's not
nothing—it's significant, otherwise you wouldn't want it.

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Copyright © 2020 Esther Lee All rights reserved
from Sacrificial Metal
Conduit Books & Ephemera
Reprinted by Verse Daily® with permission