Coming Out-An Aging Lady
Stephenson, Shelby & Beum, Robert
Shelby Stephenson Coining Out The hour is a lovely tale, Heaven, a flight of quail, Prayer, a patient man. Redweeds stay the storm in the branch, Sanded lines where trickles run nowhere And...
...I lie down in breezeless air, Blow an owl's song With & fist I shape into a horn, My fingers closing shut over hand and mouth...
...Gently lifting, the sound floats between my eyes...
...My swim is a plunge: the rope-swing moves...
...A turning is in this hollow...
...I wander beside the stream, Roll in warm beds of grass, Turn the tenderest stems to buds...
...A swing blows in the windhead of spring...
...A thrush comes out of the deep...
...I drink good nectar in soft leaves I cup to hold the juices...
...How quiet the startled fish leap In the grandeur of the water, creeping braids From me to a tumble of springs Where lily-pads slip And the garden is bird-full and rich-throated...
...Commonweal: 142...
...Smoke blooms roses...
...Robert Beum An Aging Lady Failing strength . . . But all the will of April To blaze forsythia . . . Not one door...
...Redweeds stay the storm in the branch, Sanded lines where trickles run nowhere And bottom is ashen as the old house, Three rooms coming together Freed from foundations On winds over the eastern shore...
...With stars containing past journeys I sit along ditches on hills That remind me of home, Move through lanes, backlots, paths to sawmills—Measure the warm distance...
...A sparrow waves on the sill, worm-pleased, Tail ruffled back toward beak Curving light from the widening green...
...I turn through a door...
...Running into the grass I gather a boat in my arms And the frail stars Cover my body like a net...
...I knew and might have opened Fades: they tease like the bloomEvery one I opened Led here, past strength, Past choice, to restless April...
...I shut my eyes, etch a tree in an orchard of walnuts...
...Ashes sit in the hearth...
Vol. 107 • March 1980 • No. 5
