A Psalm to Ivy
The solitary vine in this Mason jar breaks
into applause
on bright days, a breadline of hands
the color of envy.
Ivy sings carelessly, Water me, later
if now
is inconvenient. So a few leaves wither,
detach themselves.
This is not about resurrection, that
easy unbelievable
music we hear constantly, falling
and rising again.
This is about being a vine colored with open
sea stretching
endlessly through window-framed white
horizon, profligate
even in drought, tenacious even living
green and naked
in a Mason jar shining white at the edges
with sun.
SUSAN SPILECKI teaches writing at Northeastern University and MIT. Read more.