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Poetry

I’d like to scale the cord
in the vibrating dark,
to find the source of all sound,
to translate the frequencies.
The way, as a child, I could
hang onto a knot of rope
and kick myself back from a wall
into the arc and blur
of summer air—that’s the prayer
I want. To open my mouth
like a window, to ring
with my Mother’s voice.
And my heart: like a shattered
peony, musky petal after petal
unpeeling, pealing.


The Image archive is supported in part by an award from the National Endowment for the Arts.

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