The anticipated fall chill,
a wool sweater still folded
on the grassy slope of Morell Park.
A trickle of passers-by,
an hour hand sweeping the sidewalk
of this private gallery.
Green painted banks,
river of sapphire
that I could drink and drink.
A thirst slaked from the well
of a world more ancient.
A racing shell skims the surface,
drawn by the arms of rowers.
The afternoon glides by
on the strength of the body,
the beauty of the bones
turned in a lathe of T-shirt and jeans.
The mind, exotic hat poised
over every breath and beat,
right down to the filaments of human hair
posed and backlit into holiness.
Surely this is the ease that was intended,
the grace given freely,
the head and paws bounding fresh from the water,
splashing leaves, grass,
the faces and limbs
of those stretched out on blankets
in the sun.
Source: Andrews, Shari. Bones About to Bloom. Oberon Press, 2001.
"Surely This is the Ease" by Shari Andrews is reproduced by permission of Oberon Press, with our thanks.