-after Kelli Russell Agodon
in early morning’s quiet
rays murmur through the window
warm lines on my thighs
my skin so in love with heat
I’d kiss the sun if I could
how can we hold what we can’t grasp?
at night in the valley
winter’s silence is shunned
shadows rustle last year’s leaves
an owl keeps asking who
the cold snaps its teeth
I’ve swallowed so much dirt
I know the taste of endings
when the tongue is tender, it will bleed
there’s a secret language with peace
lilies, leaves wilt like weeping
a need to drink the light
cocktail of radiation
I found a puzzle of seasons
unblemished wings
it took three days to assemble
& thirty nine years
to piece together the world
into questions I could not answer
now I’m trying to tear it apart
put it back in the closet
sometimes we want it to storm
sound is never loud enough
we want to hear clouds crash
like symbols in a symphony
like the rage of a sea knocking at the door
waves invisible
shaking arms of trees
it’s almost like this world
is flooded with confessions
that we’re never ready to believe
Amanda Rabaduex is an Air Force veteran, lecturer, and the poetry editor of River & South Review. Her poetry has been nominated for Best of the Net and a Pushcart Prize and has appeared in Barren Magazine, Olney Magazine, and Emerge Literary Journal, among others. Originally from Ohio, she lives near Knoxville, Tennessee, and can be found at amandarabaduex.com.
