Grace Lytle

Martha, 2007

I was once the girl

picking Gumbo Lilies.

Backyard for acres

like frontier. There,

in cloudless Montana,

there is so much

to touch. And here,

another thick-aired

night I brave

to reach a

plodding morning,

three cups of coffee

and a single

cranberry scone.

Black urn on

the mantle, I slip

my thumbs over

the engravings.

Claddagh stamped

into the ceramic.

At first, I walked

this house on the Gulf

holding a burning

candle like a postulant.

I walk it now, repose

on this back porch,

hand open to

the sky as if

his face lingering

in the gauzy clouds

would come down,

rest in my palm.

I bake snickerdoodles

and send them to you –

O Thomas & Matthew & Laura,

in the mountains,

I have emptied

the urn to

the wind, returned

cowboy to land.

 

Grace Lytle is a poet from Houston. She has previously been published by Canvas Literary Journal, 45th Parallel Magazine, and Anti-Heroin Chic. She has a forthcoming publication in Bitter Melon Magazine.