I want more than a word.
I want to make it last.
I want it to speak for me no words can speak,
to put the pieces back together again, one by one.
I want to know, when I look up at the sky at night,
that shard I placed there wasn’t stained glass after all,
but a handful of light scattered on the horizon.
I want to make mistakes.
I want to hold that tiny, opalescent gem inside my hand
like the weight of a raindrop
and know each syllable of water got communicated.
I want to ask about the small things –
how this seashell once containing life was shaped
or if that stone was tumbled by the brook.
I want to be able to pick it up and turn it over,
run my finger across its spine
and question how these fractures got here.
I want to see myself reflected in that mirror
and ask myself the same questions.
How am I connected to every living thing?
I want to make that concrete.
Words and image by Sarah Rehfeldt. Please do not copy without my permission.
Poem and image are published in Soundings Review (Spring 2012): http://www.nila.edu/soundings/ ;
reprinted in Homestead Review, no. 38 (Fall, 2017).