The press for place
I was working to understand
that gravity that works both unseen and
seen at funerals,
giving way here to other direction,
to other courts of madness,
other losses dwelt on.
But, then, place is found within.
It is true that I was lost, feeling escaped
a bottle without a cap,
the book lying open to a blank leaf
no hints to title, to praise, or author,
the picnic basket in winter
forgotten on the lawn.
Come, press our hands together:
in the silence we will wish for spring,
or autumn, if you prefer;
we can find ourselves in
the tight light of Saskatchewan,
we’ll follow the border crossings of
the trains we thought to ride when we were young,
too, too long ago when
it didn’t matter if we weren’t home.
And our Winnipeg anguish
falls on the point of a fork:
there’s the challenge to be self in this awkwardness;
to get beyond one’s nose freezing
or maybe trust to bleed slowly
and not to slip into the packed ditches
of next year’s flood,
find ways to channel sunset
always perfectly visible on the fallow fields
sight unencumbered by the next year’s waves of grain.
never called to me,
even with the rein of its awkward gravity
not like it does you.
But I can learn to love this sky.
Yes, I can love such a sky
as open, as eternal,
as blue as the sea I still have to miss.
About the Poet:
Jesse D. Harms is an image-driven poet, trying to make something beautiful; he draws inspiration from the subjects of narcissism/subjectivity, the sacred and profane, and personal reflection. He began writing in high school, and his poetry went through its adolescent phase through participation in a monthly poetry open-mike, Speaking Crow. Jesse considers his writing to be entering (some kind of) maturity. Jesse also adores fantasy fiction, and hopes to write a fantasy novel soon. He currently resides in southern Manitoba with his wife and daughter.
Photo by UpSplash.
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