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POEM


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One morning you awaken too early and your life lies out

before you like a long field.


There is no husband in your living

room absorbing grounds of space like a great cottonwood.

There is no baby budding wet with needs.


The refrigerator hums and nuzzles like a warm lover.

The morning is so beautiful you want to give it away

like a happiness that belongs to someone you

never met.


You think of the telephone, but the cat leans

toward a black-capped bird and the moment

has flown.  Delicious, the light moves quiet

as a leaf.  An ant in the garden creeps into the tunnel

of your soul and you believe,  for a moment,  that life

is meaningful.


You think of the poem Yeats once wrote that made

the girl inside you bloom and happen and vanish.


Still the day floods, going on and on like a river

promising.  If there is marriage it is

the effluvium of clouds coming toward you

in great waves of love you gave away once

to someone you mistook as wholeness.


The woman who kissed you and asked you

to be inside of her rides on with her body

wrapped inside a soft quilt of weather

now lost to you.


It's okay.  The rosebush

goes on blooming and pleasing itself.  The beauty

of the late afternoon light sings

ineffable and preposterous as God.


You don't know if you can go on

holding this life,  being

a river,  your breasts so full

and wanting to give.  You don't know what it

can mean to be this present in an eloquence

of silence. 


You don't know if that lover will ever

come and ask you to lie

and turn for her, 


or if it is all right to be like this:

fecund and warm and self-contained as a long field.


Poet, filmmaker and author, Ally Acker has published three collections of poems, Surviving Desire (Garden Street Press, 1994), Waiting for the Beloved (Red Hen Press, 1999) and Some Help From the Dead (Red Hen, 2010)



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