1 The Gift
My hands rest one upon the other
palms crossed, face to face.
The dry warm contact—fingers,
flesh, this simple familiar clasp
holding hands with myself.
2 The Giver
Perhaps the book which told me
the gift , the giver, the one who receives
Perhaps memory which offers again
this renewed understanding.
Perhaps this struggling heart
fumbling in its cage, thudding
rhythmic perpetual desire—
Give me give me give me.
Let me give you give you give you.
When the heart hesitates
the startled body always
asks for more.
3 The One Who Receives
The gift is given the moment
the gift is received.
Light passes between blades of grass
stiff with crystals of frozen dew.
Light passes through yellowing apple leaves
into our bedroom window.
The apples hanging from crooked branches
burn in first eyelid-blinking rosy light
In that light, silently,
the deer appears, steady delicate hooves
folding frosted grass blades.
She takes one red apple in her mouth,
tugs, and chews.
10/9/1991 to 3/30/2022
thank you Sharon.
This poem helps me rethink giving and receiving, that it is each necessary for the gift, and the circle.
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