Poem 142

thoughts on adoption

So graciously they came to flight

the hopeful helpless thunder feet

a wonder peril of sweetest destiny—

Hush the yellow breath of youth.

My mother was a dandelion;

a child of spring who—white tipped—

fall time scattered her loveliness a-gail.

& we were seed babies, the loneliest

of kinfolk. Trilling about in the southbound

winds, propellors. By night we

saught the dog star,

untangled leo’s mane,

unbuckled orion’s belt.

& we were happy—to be swept away

by high breezes / to root ourselves

amid gardens, beside blessed blooms

our hearts cracked open to reveal

a green gnawing to grow & like the mums

among us we were trimmed / pruned / fertilized.

But I wonder of my mother—a capricious weed.

If someday too I’ll flock my seeds

to be forgotten.

—ECW

Poem 83 Revised

White all white, but white when it pretends to be yellow
a mustard fellow putting on airs declares
white caps of pretence on its plainer self.
 
Where else it may begin, below the calm
a storm of sentiment along the white whirling spheres
what hears the water come, a thumb on the rod
 
Of a well-oiled brush, with rush rounding our sounds
of yellow borrowing blue from the grey
come stay your eyes on a spatter here, a red
 
Run rattling on the eye, so shy some could call it calm
but lower still the truth tracks color on the canvass
a crass brass last attempt at sunlight, yellow all along.
—ECW