Silverberry by Rebekah Remington


Frumpish flowers take the yard.
Stiff noon puts on its indifferent glare
disturbed only by a medivac dwindling toward the city.

Deep in my life, I watch the earthworm have it out with the robin.
Ordinary battles repeat and repeat:
Remorse and hunger, rhododendron and chokeweed.
Body and the idea of the body.

I know only one language and God is farther than Pluto,
title half revoked,
spinning out there in the time-space,
caught, they say, in a debris cloud, hoodwinking one of its moons.

It’s a human mind I’ve been given.
When I look up what I see
is blue and a memory of blue,
white wolf and my father,
born again among pronghorn and sprung green.
I want to reconcile gratitude and fury, popsongs and death.
I want to trust, once and for all, in the wilderness waiting for me.
Scent of the silverberry. River prattling on.
Breezeless Tuesday, September closing in.


REBEKAH REMINGTON’s poetry has appeared in AGNI online, Blackbird, Hayden’s Ferry Review, The Missouri Review, Ninth Letter, Rattle, Smartish Pace, and elsewhere. Her chapbook Asphalt (CityLit 2013) was selected by Marie Howe for the Clarinda Harriss Poetry Award. She is the recipient of a Rubys Artist Project Grant from the Greater Baltimore Cultural Alliance, as well as three Maryland State Arts Council Individual Artist Awards in poetry.