13 June 2010

Mary Szybist

[from Mary Szybist's Granted, Alice James, 2003]

In the Glare of the Garden

Yes, the open mouth
of your watering can, it
reminds me of you, of
rushing toward
smallness, toward
a bright and yellowish
color. Its mouth is smaller
than any part of it,
smaller than any of those red
or yellow petals. It
reminds me of me, of
smallness that seems
closable, but isn't. Go ahead
and tilt it, keep it
up over the zinnias -- it
isn't empty. The zinnias
have their tongues out now almost
completely, let's have it
go to them. I don't think it has
ever seen them before,
let's have it
hold in the air a little
longer -- it doesn't know
the smell yet, yes,
I think you want emptiness
also, let's have it. And the zinnias
open and spark and unregarding it goes
out to them.

1 comment:

  1. Hi Carol,
    Just got done listening to you read "My Otter" on Pedestal. I love how that poem amplifies the sense of loss the speaker feels at having an otter that's not so fun, not so personable as her mother's otter was. Both your poem and this one seem to zoom in so close - on the mouth of a watering can or on the tenuous relationship with a wild animal. And they both succeed in magnifying something that would be invisible to the naked eye. Something I'm trying to learn to do and which right now I am avoiding with procrastination. Hope you're doing well.
    Greg Davis