deep impression

the poem below was in my yahoo mailbox this morning. it is written by helen cho, one of those dear friends you can manage to have nowadays without ever meeting them. i was especially taken by her friendster profile about... was it about two years ago...?! i seemed we had much in common, all the way down to our common delight in keeping chickens. at the time i worked at a restaurant very near to her home in the east bay, and i think we even might have arranged a tentative plan to meet on a monday. the memory is foggy now, but the plan fell through somehow. but she put me on her mailing list of lucky people who receive regular little gifts from her via email--telescopic links into the sea of various brilliant artists, tantalizing poems, recipes you want to make right away, hundreds of smart observations about the world, all that have enriched my life to a tremendous degree.

this latest poem is my newest favorite:



Your House


It is an unobstructed view I have
of burnt hills, a bridge touching a city, eucalyptus,
a steel tower, the open moon.
I would give these things away,
like a rich man
sweeping bare his porch
of leaves that have fallen in the night.

I shrug out of my human form,
to cross
rivers as deep as myself, wriggle
down the ravine,
bruised, sliding, holding roots.
It's a blind mile, each tree girth
rubbed smooth of moss, blackened
my hand's cold slide
and finger mark.
Soaked, I run past
the bee hives and mottled hay to knock on the windows,
hail and fist.
I spread out my fingers against the glass,
torn wide, to prove
it is still a hand.
The barbs of a wing feather interlock.

I hear your voice and run
to the back of the house. You feed the geese
white oats
snowed in mud
and see through
my destinations,
even my greed for you.

You have come back.

I say nothing but remain
in place.
I belong here like the geese
and bees, every stone in the house
and field, every finger on your hand,
the dress you wear upon your skin,
and the other you keep new
for better days.