Spring is not so very promising as it is the thing that looking back was fire, promising: ignition, aspiration; it was not under my thumb. Now when I pretend a future it is the moment he holds the thing I say new-born, delicate, sure to begin moving but I am burned out of it like the melody underneath (still not under my thumb)-- was he ambiguous, amphibian? Underneath, his voice, the many ways he gathers oxygen; it will not stop raining until the buds push through the brittle trees. If they fail we will not survive, washed and washed with rain, will we? No,we are not there yet. She is pushing me two ways until I am inside the paradox, the many lungs, and they're at it again, gathering oxygen; no wonder I am wrung out holding out for the promise of something secret, after--
From Eating in the Underworld by Rachel Zucker. Copyright © 2003 by Rachel Zucker. Reproduced by permission of Wesleyan University Press. All rights reserved.
Rachel Zucker's poetry collections include The Pedestrians (Wave Books, 2014), Museum of Accidents (Wave Books, 2009), and The Bad Wife Handbook (Wesleyan University Press, 2007).
Date Published: 2003-01-01
Source URL: https://poets.org/poem/diary-surface