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.

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