House of Trees (Golden Shovel)
*After a line in Victoria Chang’s poem, “America,” in Obit
Your last words before you slid into the
otherworld followed me reading “where the dead
become part of the living” in my poem I want to believe you are
some orange jewelweed growing on a felled limb or an
oak dropping acorns to continue the line any image
insisting on life you said you’d be every bird of
the stars the dirt the rivers in the wind
the mountains you said even in the dust and
then I would know you are part of this world when
you are no longer in it I can only write half a poem until they
come the signs I mean let’s comb
the files for rainbows insist that the bees returned to their
hives in our courtyard because you are in my hair
you said you’d be everywhere I don’t cry anymore and our
time together seems a gasp but I feel you in the trees
more than anywhere else I hear the whispers and the rustle.
11 thoughts on "House of Trees (Golden Shovel)"
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Hmmm. I didn’t choose a content warning, but OK. There IS death–but more grief–in this poem.
A very moving piece, I especially love the line,
“I want to believe you are
some orange jewelweed growing on a felled limb”
Thank you, Leah. That line is from one of my earlier poems.
Ok, Ellen, you are tempting me to write a golden shovel. I’ve admired them from Pauletta, Bill Verble and Mike Wilson recently, but yours is the one pushing me out onto the pitch. Beautiful work.
Hi Kevin! Thanks for reading and commenting. I’m slow to get going this year. Will head over to your page!
A profound, intimate expression of love and grief.
Yesssss: because you are in my hair/you said you’d be everywhere.
Thanks for reading and commenting, Pam.
our time together seems like a gasp. damn, I say damn, Ellen.
Thank you for appreciating, Manny
Oh my, Ellen. What an amazing poem. Thank you for sharing it. It’s so tender and reverent, hauntingly beautiful.
Karen, your appreciation means a great deal to me!