" Human Wishes "
If human longing were a color,
it wouldn’t be the green of forests.
It would be streaks of vermilion
against a crisp winter sky,
an egg bursting from the lining
of the uterus, a bloody stain
in white cotton.
Meanwhile, up above—
angels are making love. Hawks
soar effortlessly, despite
the patter of rain feeding the earth.
One night, while brushing her hair,
a woman says to her husband
“Truth is, I am sad because
you cannot fill this emptiness I feel.”
He, having no response, removes
his trousers, folds them and goes to bed
where he stares into darkness.
If human longing were a smell,
it would be the earth after a soaking,
dead leaves filled with engorged worms.
It would be marigolds in a clear pitcher
sitting on a windowsill in the sun.
Meanwhile—
stars console us with
unwavering light. The moon grins
having seen it all.
If human longing were a touch,
it would be the soft spot on a baby’s head,
the down of hair that covers the skin,
the resilient skull.
A leaf on the tallest branch
releases itself, skitters
through wind and rain, loses itself
to the sky.
© 2004 Laurie Byro
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