Iggy Shuler Outside, in the forest— An early thaw. A falling branch slices open a bird’s nest. I think of you as a fox, shedding its winter skin The back of your head, bowed in prayer, a new light, Your hand in your father’s hand, I think of your hands. The hymns, a turning sound in our voices, a glance Heavenward, your family a row in front of mine, a morning Glory turning its head to the sky. I think of your sky. Your voice in the choir. I think of you often. I think of you, in the wake of your sister’s death, Gathering eggs in the henhouse across the pasture. Sunday afternoon, I pick blackberries in the forest. Late morning light, counting each one as I go. Even this is a form of prayer, a wanting to breathe A held breath // I think of you when I eat the ﬁrst blackberries of the season.
Prairie Schooner – University of Nebraska Press
Published: Dec 21, 2019