Yes, even in spring
it’s possible to lose
what you love.
Like the nest you checked
every morning for weeks
to be sure the tiny speckled eggs
were there and safe,
your almost bird children
gone without permission.
They have flown
into the blue, grey, black,
starry, rainy, clear sky
home of their own.
Like all the other animals
born and not finding
what they need,
they will fly off
leaving you nothing
to keep in your hands
Soon enough, my girl
you will be surprised at how soon,
you, too, will be a bird.
“Spring Time” can be found in the forthcoming chapbook Touch by Virginia Crawford, available February 12, 2011 from Finishing Line Press. Preorders are now open ($14); please visit Finishing Line Press for more details.
Advanced praise for Touch:
“These poems serve as a meditation on what it means to be broken open by love. As the complexities of our experiences teach us about the sweet ambiguities and delicious coldness of our lives, we learn both to let go of our expectation that we will be made beautiful by being chosen to dance at the ball, and realize instead the possibilities available to us as we explore the many amazing layers of our lives. The affirmation, Crawford suggests, comes from understanding that we are all brokenhearted. Even the lucky ones. Touch aims to help us open the curtain and raise up that good and human face – the one we all share, the one that hungers for luminosity.”
Michael S. Glaser, Poet Laureate of Maryland 2004-2009, Professor Emeritus, St. Mary’s College of Maryland
“These poems reach out to touch you the way you might touch a rare flower or a newborn child, the way comforting words reach deep to touch the wounded soul. Virginia Crawford’s poems caress the stars, the moon, the light, and the things we cherish most in this world.”
Edgar Gabriel Silex, author of Acts of Love and Through All the Displacements
“Miracles are transferred by ordinary touch, and Virginia Crawford reminds us of the miraculous in the mundane through her new book Touch. The poems in Touch are poems of a daughter, wife and mother, straddling worlds where her reach is taught as her heart, encompassing the generations that embrace her and, sometimes, trap her.
The speaker in Crawford’s poems may have expected to abandon her childhood when she became a mother, or anticipated secrets of the adult world would be revealed to her, but she remains herself, in a tactile world full of the fascinations and flaws of her youth.
The voice of these poems is at once gentle and desperate, seeking to protect innocence and cultivate passions with only the most delicate tools.”
Barbara DeCesare, author of Silent Type and Jigsaw Eyesore