my own arms
did I feel how I am
so gently being held
Posts Tagged ‘gravity’
On the counter waits thirty pounds
of apricots, and even after hours
of halving the soft flesh, removing the pits
and arranging them to dry, each apricot feels
like a present, sweet commonplace perfection.
I pass their humble weight from hand to hand
and marvel at their apricotness—recalling
how yesterday they were clustered and strung
on the limbs so thick that the branches hung low to touch
the orchard floor. Oh gravity, what is it you love
about sweetness. Even the lovers who churn
in the grass are drawn into your promise.
But not tonight. Tonight, there are apricots
ripe and gold and glistening in the center.
Tonight there is this art of making
sweetness last just a little bit longer,
Gravity, I adored you today,
the way you led me from the top of the mountain
to lower down. The clear rush of it all,
the thrill of velocity, the giving in
to forces greater than ourselves
and learning there to play.
What a sweet oxymoron,
the more mass we have, the faster
we go, and with this heart so weighted
I was surely more lickety-split
than ever before, and felt it, too,
the shocking lightness,
the reminder that all of us,
all of us are in it together,
at the mercy of this draw,
this tug, this gravity that brings us
down, down, down, wheeeeeeee down
humbled and even laughing.