Blessings
By Sofia M. Starnes
For Bill
It’s always a matter of when, not if—
so let it not be said we sowed a doubt
between the river and the heart-worn path
that leads to our doorway, to the holy grout
that keeps our walls in place. We planted
trees, two maples, back and front;
they were your height then, now three stories
tall: tassels in June, brazen before the brunt
of winter. Ice killed their branches once,
twice; it nearly broke me—powerless,
prepping for death. A little room for midnight.
Against the wishbone of your neck, I press
my hand in every storm. Do saints live
this close to heaven, while their feet burrow
in mud? It’s always a matter of when, not if—
stars and moon, sunrise, and a furrow
that leads to roses. I feel a breeze—might it be
your hand, waving on arrival? Or my morn-
ing response, after the final call?
Whether we come or go, we’re shadow-born,
yet burning. I’ll know you anywhere.
Bless me, my dear!
Photo by Pat Whelen on Unsplash
Sofia M. Starnes, D. Litt. (hon.), Virginia Poet Laureate, Emerita, is the author of six poetry collections, including The Consequence of Moonlight (Paraclete Press). Her work has appeared widely in such journals as Poetry, Notre Dame Review, First Things, and the Best of the Decade edition of the Hawai’i Pacific Review. She is currently translating two books by the Spanish saint, Manuel Gonzalez Garcia, a commissioned work. Her latest poetry collection, Ten, Tendril, Tenderness, is forthcoming.
