Lessons of Faint Montana
I roll back into Arizona, single and pale
unfolding the delphiniums into porcelain
deep heat, white flower—
I believed in cracking webs into the ceramic sink
before finding remedy in Montana pastures.
I forgave your making of my hummingbird skin
blue petals blurring the tender green layer.
I let longing dehydrate in clay-basin appetite,
wild mustard water hardening into honey,
bruises healing, bitter sweetening.
—I returned to Arizona; delphiniums unfolded, china petrified.
You stared from the porch; kiln knuckles curled, temper
unchanged.
Catie McGuire is an English major and is currently a junior at SUNY Geneseo. She originally hails from New Jersey and her preferred genre is poetry.
