That's my flower...
The Sex of
there was a time
There was season upon season
Held safe in Central Pennsylvania
I know it well, can never forget it
The last time I walked this earth
Beheld the fall in such color
Miracles of spring, buds popping, earth turned green.
The wise austerity of winter.
I remember picking corn
Coaxing warmth from the kerosene stove
Pissing in the toilet to melt the ice from the night
Deer through the arbor door, tame as cats
And wasps with their sting that kept you strong
Driving all night with squash and vegetables
To the market in Philly, next to the Vet
It remains a harvest in this heap of dreams.
I know it's half fancy, that's what pulls me
But the sunsets were real, the swims in the pond
Fresh earth turned in Spring like a flower
The smell of it, the sense it made to this desert
A part of myself lost in stars that you can pick by hand
Falling halfway across the sky into my pocket.
I'll weed the garden, feed the stock, roof that barn again
I want to return, to feel that light at sunset.
You can't go back, it's been said, I know
But amid this pain, this sorrow, this longing seed
There is room for moments, for lifetimes in moments
When the world wasn't turning topsy-turvy
And the demands were less than this extravagant need.
So I ask from the dearth of this deserted island
Is there room there still, is the sun still as free
As when the light fell across the wood floor like a gift?
Series of 250
Printed on Somerset archiving paper
Size 11" x 17"
Signed and numbered
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