Entreaty Now
after Joanna Klink, for Mary Oliver
Go out barefoot to the car for what you left,for what you didn’t have enoughhands to hold.Go out as a soft offering for gravel.As a practice swing at walkingfarther and farther from the comforter,from the sighing waiting bodyyou hold when you want to,from the steady windowpane shadowcast by a night so brighteven minor constellations get to speak light.They are furnace-ready pilot lightswhen the rest of the power’s gone out.They are all the failed matchesthat couldn’t get the cigarette lit,a persistent sign to go back inside of your life.To make each night a ripe stone fruit.To split and pull the pit from it.To bite the flesh of rest and let it drip.And when you have made a messof yourself, to know there were rows of…
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The American Poetry Review (Digital) - 1 Issue, September/October 2020