“This Time” by Chelsea Witton

11 Aug

Now I’ve been back in Indiana for a bit, just under two weeks but already feeling more home, more settled, more vital green like the country around me, no more grass gasping through sand. Bye ocean, hello fields and fields.

My heart toward the Midwest swirls wild/calm/rusty/glimmer and when I drive past the stalks at night I ask it to unravel.  Lately I want summer’s exiting fireflies to become fire-colored trees like come on already.  Change I know is coming is change that is safe.

This poem from Chelsea Witton in the Summer 2012 issue of Sixth Finch is a bedtime prayer to the graspable, breathable earth. When I’m begging it to be constant in its transformation it feels something like this, the truest words I could chant Please, please, please:

…Please stars. Please stars. Please silver

flask. Please whiskey. Please bullfrogs

back and forth. Please owl, somewhere,

hunting. Please little fire. Please music.

Please singing. Please all imaginary

instruments. Please splada. Please pish.

Please terrifying stories that could be true.

But please not…

Go here, read the rest.

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