in the sharp light of naming and coming to know, something
moves towards the world
advances upon it and there is violence in that, a groan in the
bowels, knash of teeth in the wording but
grace also.
a god-making, a let there be lighting, and this violence,
irreducible to the valves of the heart, pumping the heat of all things,
the finger-slipped, the beating brain, the cracked knuckle crunched
cartilage nose, its grace is good, this god is with you, is in you,
is.
and the something moving, something signaled
snared in the light, red hand revelations, known by the place in the
dark where it ain’t
and found in the prayer of your knowing, in the overflow of your given name,
happening even
as it might become.
Stems (a revelation of suicide considered)
I should like to keep the flowers fresh by the windowside
I should like to dry and press them free from the brittle grief of wilting, you below,
So, do not, just yet, go.
A week, a month, next Fall, fifty Falls from now but
a plot and stone grow no green that is more becoming
than the pink Spring of your cheeks this morning, in bed,
me beside
fifty Falls will come, come rushing, come quick
they will come to you so—do not so quickly run from me, while the flowers are fresh
and your dear soft skin going rosen and gold,
announcing a summer so lustfully near.
Maria Elting is originally from Oahu, Hawaii. She currently lives in Istanbul, Turkey, where she is completing a BA in Art History and Philosophy. This is the first publication of her work.
