Offer your usual posy of goatheads. Proffer
sharp garlands of thistle & Incas’ thin down;
of squash bugs strung on blighted stems; send
back necklaced every reeking pearl I crushed,
each egg cluster that I scraped away with knife
or twig or thumbnail. Wake me sweat-laced
from a dream of hidden stables: the gentle foals
atremble, stem-legged, long-neglected. Dear
drought our summer’s corn was overrun again
with weed & cheat; the bitter zinnias fell to bits.
Dear yearlings our harvest is lattice & husk.
Source: Poetry (January 2012).
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This poem originally appeared in the January 2012 issue of Poetry magazine