POEM
Spring
Mother tried to take her life.
The icicles thawed.
The house, a wet coat
we couldn’t put back on.
Still, the garden quickened,
the fields were firm.
Birds flew from the woods’
fingertips. Among the petals
and sticks and browning fruit,
we sat in the grass and
bickered, chained daisies, prayed.
All that falls is caught. Unless
it doesn’t stop, like moonlight,
which has no pace to speak of,
falling through the cedar limbs,
falling through the rock.
Source: Poetry (November 2009).
This poem originally appeared in the November 2009 issue of Poetry.
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Chloë Honum's poems have appeared or are forthcoming in AGNI, the Paris . . . MORE »
