If You Could Really See

If You Could Really See at Kentuck Knob If I climbed the steps on your rooftopwould you hand me a copper pennyone that you forged and moldedso I would stay? Up there, I could reach the tops of the bitter hickory treesmaybe even fly if I reattached my wings, call-out like the black crowgathering a new murder—those friends of folly.And I promise not to cry when I leavebecause the salt and water would only erode youinto a distortion of what you were built to be. I could remain seated in the chair prepared for meby the door you keep lockedor at the kitchen table situated under the ceiling that was built too low,making the body bend, legs stretching into the airtwisted and complexdespising my paradox. But I can’t seem to take myself from the sweet-water,this vessel that holds me, sometimes fills mebecause we look as if we still fit, welded from the same frame but split in two,now shape distorted just enoughto know when we are face to faceit is ok to look through the rabbit holemy eye larger now, yours almost closed. ~Julie Demoff Larson