Names she tried to teach me
Sibilant forsythia, hard-ringed dogwood,
and this vine:
red bead bursting from
yellow sheathing; autumn’s surprise
she gathered to
grace the mantelpiece,
to twine our hearts to hers. I’ve lost
the name: Bright
morning? Mustard
joy? Harvest noon? Burnt breakfast?
Wandering winter
jewel?
Spotting the red and yellow
caught in
November’s edge-of-field
bramble catches me. I could not love
her enough. Tangle
of guilt, bramble
of no name. It comes a few days later:
bittersweet.
Sarah Browning is co-founder and Executive Director of Split This Rock: Poetry of Provocation & Witness and an Associate Fellow of the Institute for Policy Studies. Author of Whiskey in the Garden of Eden and co-editor of D.C. Poets Against the War: An Anthology, she is the recipient of artist fellowships from the DC Commission on the Arts & Humanities, a Creative Communities Initiative grant, and the People Before Profits Poetry Prize. She has been guest editor or co-edited special issues of Beltway Poetry Quarterly, The Delaware Poetry Review, and POETRY magazine.
bittersweet.
This is wonderful--funny, sad, true, and made of words.
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