I Saw You Saw

For Amy

I found myself inside a poem.
Having thrown out my red tulips years ago,
I had almost forgotten
That younger self in a pale blue johnny, fresh with abandonment
Skirting the potted plants, coy with the guy in detox
Though the sight of his un-apostrophed contractions made me wince.

When I got back my clothes and went into the dim-lit day room,
I found a man named Jesus singing to the cross.
Again and again he fingered the strings.
I sat on the table and sang though he never noticed
Or once looked up.

I’d sworn it to the sunflowers standing tall in a Missouri alley.
I will never, I said, deduct from my confession
The thrilling wonder at, the surge of need for
that makes the edges of the bluet distinct and clean

And now I find narrow file cabinets like long halls
A passage with no final purpose
Echoing, sterile, unadorned
So like the hospital walls,
that first entombed me.

How could I be back here?
I’d come so far.
Among the refuse the weeds will rise.
These still are my flowers.
They will transport me.



By Monika Riney
November 3, 2009