|Posted on June 9, 2016 at 4:30 PM|
Transform it into the shape of a church with hands—
Give me a way to sweep big spaces of silence
Into my reply.
I found the bag of flower petals
Meant for the memorial—
I went in a different direction, and there they were.
Next time I meet with a couple,
I’ll sprinkle the lap of each with dried petals,
And we’ll breathe in time to their dry music.
What they long to say and could not yet say
Will disentangle itself and attach itself
To a mourning dove in the courtyard.
Each one will lament a little, and laugh a little;
And even if I never see them again,
The angel of petals will leave her mark on the inside of an elbow.