Saturday, November 19, 2011

First Thanksgiving

When she comes back, from college, I will see
the skin of her upper arms, cool,
matte, glossy. She will hug me, my old
soupy chest against her breasts,
I will smell her hair! She will sleep in this apartment,
her sleep like an untamed, good object,
like a soul in a body. She came into my life the
second great arrival, after him, fresh
from the other worldwhich lay, from within him,
within me, Those nights, I fed her to sleep,
week after week, the moon rising,
and setting, and waxingwhirling, over the months,
in a slow blur, around our planet.
Now she doesn't need love like that, she has
had it. She will walk in glowing, we will talk,
and then, when she's fast asleep, I'll exult 
to have her in that room again,
behind that door! As a child, I caught
bees, by the wings, and held them, some seconds,
looked into their wild faces,
listened to them sing, then tossed them back
into the airI remember the moment the
arc of my toss swerved, and they entered 
the corrected curve of their departure. 

-- Sharon Olds (via Writer's Almanac)


Susan Champlin said...

Thank you for this, Bumble. I am 56 hours—but who's counting—away from having this poem become my reality, and it gives me an exquisite pang of anticipation.

Katherine C. James said...

"Now she doesn't need love like that, she has had it."

Add my thanks to Susan's, Bumble. Sharon Olds just knows, doesn't she?

Love to both you sweet women, and to the girl you wanted, loved, nurtured. Bumble, your girl has not yet left. Susan your girl is about to come back to you.

It gives me joy each time I witness the love and connection that allows a child to "glow."