We (for Mary Oliver)

for the Writer's Cramp

We (for Mary Oliver)

We poets play
at the edges of knowing
like children
with all the answers
crafting words,
solutions, but life is just
this.

We always sat
for 5'oclock tea,
smokey, honey,
tart with ginger.
We watched
late afternoon light
shift in a growing dance
morphing on our skin.
In the looking
things would ripen.

We pretended
to belong here.


We.



{author's note: I imagined poet Mary Oliver reminiscing of her long-time companion Molly Malone Cook, who passed in 2005}