Seed - Green Mountains Review
Seed
When I tell myself this story,
all the action takes place
under an empty sky.
Neighborhood bungalows
stare blankly into space;
no one cutting grass or walking dogs.
I might have been with Andrea,
or maybe just alone,
walking home from school;
long concrete stairs
cut into the grade from Blaine to 22nd—
blackberry, ivy knotting the rails, suffocating
the trees, but pretty,
and afternoon berries always warm.
I know it was afternoon
because he sits in a clump of shade
with his back to us,
wearing a gray suit;
not moving at all while we come down,
slowly crossing the flights
as if riding the tamest roller-coaster,
and then we’re on his stair,
close enough to see leaves under his shoe;
his belt and zipper.
Here is why I may have been alone:
when he said Touch it
no one else put out her hand.
He’s wearing a gray suit;
it must be afternoon because the sun
is low across his lap
and my hand has no nerves
to record the sensation;
I only have eyes to register the gray milk
emerging from where I could not say, exactly;
I don’t understand his geography.
For years I knew I had done something unusual.
My secret, small as a seed.
I don’t remember what happened next
except in silence he continued
to sit there,
and I went on into Monday and kickball;
morning show and tell
beside classroom windows raised
to sunshine and traffic.
I boarded a plane,
held my baby daughter,
watched her smile at the breast;
tried to give her softness when she screamed.
Even lying in bed,
husband at my back,
turning to take him into my hands or mouth or body;
I have seen
no discernable effect,
at least not when I read my life
like a newspaper,
checking the progress of events.
Where is the seed now?
A million years ago, my body sealed a thorn.
My body numbed the spot,
climbed straight into light and air.
When I tell myself this story,
the action takes place
on a staircase,
where I obey him.
There are soft berries, ivy waving.
If I don’t move a muscle,
I’ll be able to watch my hands and mouth
trying to bud
the word no.
- Published in Green Mountains Review Online, February 21, 2021