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If I heard the words you once used
in our wild place rough with scrub roses
in sand—if your words came back
gray and kind as mild winter
believe me I’d still understand
offer my own red language
my tongue to your tongue
so we recall what we once said
that made us live
made us choose to live
Copyright © 2020 Heid E. Erdrich. This poem originally appeared in The Kenyon Review. Used with permission of the poet.
Loves How I love you How you How we hang on words How eaten with need How we need to eat How weevils sift the wheat How cold it is How thick with hoarfrost ice slick sleet freeze How wintery the mix How full of angst How gut sick How blue lipped How we drink How we drink a health How we care How easy over as eggs How it all slides How absurd How yet tender we all How wrapped in a thick coat How battered How slender the flesh How we wrap ourselves How many selves we all How I miss you many How I see you How your eyes warm mine How tiny am I inside How enormous my need How you open an old-fas
Not the bottle
Not the burn on the lips
lit throat glow
Not even wild really
but a small-town bird
whose burgundy throat
shimmers like nothing ever
A huge bird impressive
who lurches and stalks me
First in the dark world of a crying child
he will think you ruined his offspring
He’ll say “milk spoilt” and “mama’s boy”
Soon enough he will hate you and hold hostage
all the love he can wring from
a small terrified being