Today's poem is by Didi Jackson

Mercy
       

I prefer the charred smell of old fire rings,
tattooed evidence of laughter
like the kingfisher's rattle at the water's edge,
the shoreline the pallor of my skin; who am I
to be witness to the infinite
number of jays winging down the mountain—
blue beads weaving in and out of pine and beech
jeweled and brilliant? The air itself is their memory.
There is no freedom like that. The mountains
are multiple continents. How do I pray
to anything larger than this? Everything
is of me and so much greater
than me. And why quit this place?
Birch branches softly drum my name.
And when I say quit, I mean intentionally,
as with blades or guns, pills even.
Miracles fall everywhere like loose leaves.
A ghost rests in my arms and I rock him
for a moment as he remembers what was
good: the cool nights, the warmth of campfires,
the mercy that strips us naked to each other.

Tweet

Copyright © 2024 Didi Jackson All rights reserved
from My Infinity
Red Hen Press
Reprinted by Verse Daily® with permission