I Sit Like Mary Oliver
This book of poetry nestled into my chest.
Hold there, I tell my thoughts. If Mary did
then I can. Hold that glossy stone in your
palm. Let it speak with lilting tongues. Hold
that barred owl high. Mimic her hoots.
Hold on, I tell my feet.
This orb grounds me. Frees me to write
the smallest glimpsed thing if I just keep
my eyelids propped or -
if I let them droop like this
afternoon light enters and mirrors star ray magic
bouncing off willow leaves
and off starlings whistling arias
I didn’t know my heart craved.
Does startling beauty not leave you
breathless? Do your toes not dig into
warm soil like an earthworm worming its way
into rich dirt to do its important work?
See it wind its way between patient sunflower
seeds and sightless creatures of the night.
Our bewildered witnessing –
isn’t it wondrous?
My book of poetry on this lap, not complete.
But close. A line added here, a faint
nod there, a sketch of incredulity that I sit
while grass does its fierce growing
trout its gutsy leaping. The planet hurtles
through wild, wild space at break-neck speed.
Yes, we hold on.
Alina Zollfrank dreams trilingually in the Pacific Northwest. Her work has been nominated for Best of the Net and The Pushcart Prize and recently appeared or is forthcoming in SAND, Sierra Nevada Review, Door Is A Jar, Tint, Writers Resist, and Another Chicago Magazine, The MacGuffin, Salt Hill, and Thimble. Alina is a grateful recipient of the 2024 Washington Artist Trust Grant and committed disability advocate.
Amethyst Review 