Dispatches from an Unfinished World

A leaf the green that a child would choose
if asked
to draw a leaf.
 
          *
 
This heavy-petalled rose
is humid as the accent
of my current correspondent.
 
          *
 
Trees unberried by bird.
Trees unleafed by beetle.
 
          *
 
My correspondent
is a tentative man and I
am unaccustomed to tentative men.
 
          *
 
White rose blossom
browning at the edges.
Paperback book.
 
          *
 
Inside, my mother humming
a song I’ve never heard.
 
          *
 
Kinds of holiness.
 
          *
 
Trees unbarked by winter deer.
 
          *
 
My correspondent
will not let me love him.
 
          *
 
Green things make
such mild noise.
 
          *
 
I uncross my legs
to find, with a bare foot,
that sun has warmed the stone.
I partake of the sun.
 
          *
 
And the stone.

Rebecca Lindenberg, “Dispatches from an Unfinished World” from Love, an Index. Copyright © 2012 by Rebecca Lindenberg. Reprinted by permission of McSweeney’s Publishing.
Source: Love, an Index (McSweeney's Publishing, 2012)
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