It is a time of great change
Yesterday evening I sat on the porch steps as the sun,
humming the pink oranges of a day well did, dissolved
down past the peaked rooftops and skinny fingerbone trees.
A mellowing, a warming. It is a time of great change, said
my friend, who believes that as the planets form a square,
lives shift, drawn to newness. The upheaval of the damp earth
by seeds pushing green and demanding to the sky, unfurling
one then two cotyledon leaves, rubber fresh, is only just the start.
A couple walking in step down the sidewalk are drawn to my lap
by their old dog, who places his head on my knees and waits.
Love me, he says. For we are alive, and it is a time of great change.
His ears are soft and the fur thick still, though it loosens, explodes
in great clouds of scatterplot hair, starbursts, dustbunnies that would.
The man tells us a story of his mother, a strong Greek woman who
once, in a pinch, dragged his four siblings and all of their luggage
tied to a rope through customs to find America, but first, a restroom
And the woman, his maybe wife, laughs but looks at the dog,
panting, head heavy against my busy touch, his eyes watery with
hours squinting after squirrels and said, She’s told me that story,
your mom. She pinched my arm and said, You’re not as strong as me.
The sky has deepened to a richness of royalty, a color for
ball gowns, resplendent, swimmable. The cement stoop
yet remembers the heat, radiating up through my thighs
though my fingers are chilled, the nails showing a light purple.
It is a time of great change.
April 2014, copyright Sarah Hirsch
A blog of mostly poems, some prose. Recent works will be added to the top, and older pieces are backdated. Please write me a note if you have any questions, etc!
All works are original and copyright Sarah Hirsch, 2017. Please contact me directly if you would like permission to use any images or words. Thank you!
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