Their Every Yellow Leaf
Jacinth looks at the pig and
asks what she did in another lifetime
to be so beautiful.
Maybe not everyone would see it
but she’s perfect.
I am not everyone. I agree.
Alice is perfect,
a hippopotamus made compact.
I stroke her dark hide and feed her
fruit cup from breakfast.
Cauliflower and a toasted bagel.
Plum jam.
With the pig, Jacinth
and I break bread.
Jacob, who is new to this poem,
buries his cigarette in a late Fall lawn
to take a call from Quebec.
In bright sunlight Alice considers
eternally recycling life. Is my guess.
Jacinth has no interest in me or Jacob
and praises only the pig, who is complete.
Is her guess. The heart gets lonely
some days. Is Jacob’s guess.
Feeding Alice renders longing and irritation
irrelevant, without obliterating either.
Aspens snap their every yellow leaf.
The trees expected we’d be gone by now.
Their every yellow leaves don’t guess.
Thank you to the editors of New Ohio Review, 2023 for selecting this poem.
