Open Hands

TWO POEMS

OPEN HANDS

Answer, now you watch the full stalks of ironweed break

And carry their red seed among the leaves; and spray

Beats them from the wind.

"I wish that sowing ironweed seed,

With children bringing me full stalks, running to the

orchard

To strip seed for me, took my time now. Their wet hands!

This grass, white-headed because the seed's threshed,

raked

The sand rising when I imagined love, when I was

Too proud for children. Go down again-they are grown-

You sand moving, you sharp duning sand, sing against

The dead grass-blades, and fall here and cover me. Fill

my hands.

Dry me out like dead bird-quills, milk my strength still.

I know.

That spirit is come to an end. There is no pain."

You talk to the sand: and let me go, let me go.

When the wind rose I thought that spirit knew of the sand

And desired voice and hands; and that I knew that

strength.

But your words hold me too close to my own grief,

And make me remember what I desired, and know.