A Poem for Sally

She
(for Sally)

“She,”
she said, markedly. “She
is a Red Admiral.”

It was the day after
Adrienne Rich died.
And I was thinking

I wish I knew more
about flora and fauna.
I was also thinking

of the time Rich remonstrated
John Berryman for his drinking,
how we drab ones, like moths,

are instructed. No myth
in her red-flecked skirt, she
advanced to the window,

setting down
her book of
Nabokov

(entomology
met
etymology).

Diving in she didn’t know
she would surface in this
poem,

wearing (not catching)
“the thing itself”
on the back of her wrist.

Unarmed (sans net)
she wore her fleeting
charm on a bracelet of poise.

I opened the door and backed
away to watch
this tandem face

its noisy moat
and sail across,
epaulets intact.

–Andy

Advertisements

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s