For My Daughter
And what if after so many words
the word itself doesn’t survive.
Cesar Vallejo, “And What If After”
If you were here I would not need to try
To tell you how this moon, washed earlier
By rain, is a sallow barely-there yellow now,
Not setting but becoming part of the early light,
Or how this sky is like lapis lazuli, polished
To a glimmering sheen where it rubs against
The ridge edge of the hill.
I don't know how
To tell you the way my wet pines smell, or
What the tart taste of the first gooseberries
I'm going to go out and gather this morning
Is like, how they sound as they drop into
My old tin pail. How there is a premonition
Of rain ringing in the maple leaves again, as
Though they were little wood wind chimes, or
How the light is reddening now in the clouds,
Reminding me of the Chinese lacquer shimmer
On incense bowls in that long-ago Taipei temple.
Some things, some places, our lives, are only
What they are in the moment we come to them,
To be entered into wholly then without words,
As you and I would now, if you were here.
Poetry by countryfog
Read 890 times
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Written on 2015-07-02 at 18:34
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