By VALERIE DUFF
We are following the hearse,
the body in the hearse steady
as a tree, Not my father
any longer jagged timber,
skidded from the world.
Winter face, eyes tight, reject
the earth. Ground, rough out
Arabian night, let him drown
in trunk and sap. Hoofbeats
hover on the chintz.
Hands, upend the seamless
flying carpet. Wagon
that’s been rigged to bear
sharp wind, brace
for final shift. Put your faith in
blue hydrangea ground to powder.
Valerie Duff is the author of the poetry collection To the New World.
Listen to Valerie Duff and Leslie McGrath read and discuss “Folk Magic” on our Contributors in Conversation podcast.
