May It Not Come Undone
Thick rainbow chard and yellow corn; We run past the market tents To where the light hangs over the river In eternal September.
Yesterday the sun adored us And showed your smiling faces. Now blue-grey shadows Stretch into the corners of twilight.
I stare at the highest branch And pray for a sacred ritual; That wiser words might open us Softly, back to that which we share.
Our produce bags are heavy, yet, Amid the piles of sweet apples, my finger Traces the crimson cockscomb And my mother asks if I get lonely.
Like the bean’s green tendrils Sure and steady in their search, I reach for higher truth, Sure of someone beside me.
Together, We stand in fleshy rows, Our arms braiding us Skin to skin.
May it not come undone. Spare us the bitter unraveling. Deliver us from dragging Our walls along with us.
Maybe light the candles; Sing with me while I pray For sun and rain, and for safekeeping. For September is tender.
Published on the Ancient Paths Facebook page on August 31, 2019
2019 Pushcart Prize Nominee