This From My Friend Ginger Murchison's New Book

Out Here, published by Jeanne Duval Editions

At Practice

As if what's wrong had a beginning,
could be defined and pinned to a spot.
As if the exact moment of damage
were even possible to know,
the amount of heart it would take.

If what's wrong had a name,
would it become small enough for a fight?
Or would it swell in its own rotten luck,
thriving on any light left?
Wouldn't curses and prayers
have to come out of shards of regret?

If we have to ask, are we ready
for what happens next?

Perfect is a blue-haired blaspheme.
Against the one-legged tern on the beach
staking his claim for a windfall
of crumbs, only a squawk to protect it.
Against the first crocus, doesn't it know?
pushing its yellow mistake up through the snow.
Even the mountain lake begins
with a trickle from the snout of a glacier.

Everything's only just practicing.


e! said...

That is fantastic! And so true! I think that there is always that one moment you can pin point, where you wish you could have done anything other than that one thing, that pivot point! And it always lingers with you even after it may be no longer relevant, sometimes even years later you still look back and think of what you could have said or done differently. I hope your days are getting better and Lola is no longer feeling sickly!

Collin Kelley said...

It's a fabulous book of poetry. I'm reviewing it on my blog this week.

Lisa Allender said...

"...snout of a glacier." What magical, mystical imagery!Love it.

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