This poem began as a response to Mary Oliver’s “I Have Decided” (found in A Thousand Mornings) and quickly flew off in its own direction, until during my revisions I had to cut the response part of it entirely. The original remains scribbled in my notebook, which I’m glad I had with me at the coffee shop that day in April.
MAY I TASTE THE BERRIES ICE-ENCASED
and learn to flame so screaming-red
inside the burn of icy crust, in isolation
from my love whose flesh brushed warm
against my own before the storm, before
the silent, dripping cold that froze and forced us
apart. The mountain breath will thaw
in May; by then, perhaps, a bird will pluck
you from the branch—or else, by then, our scarlet flesh
might purple, wither, brown. In morning sun
we’ll rouse and peer through veils of dew
and startle then to see our wrinkled bodies,
hanging limp upon this branch, together still,
and marvel yet that even shriveled, darkened flesh
can feel exquisite…thinking this,
I’ll flame so screaming-red and hope
(against the blasts that shake our branch, against
the birds that snap so close) that even through the glassy crust
you’ll catch the light, and know it’s yours.
