POEM FOR INFINITE RETURNS
for R.D. 1935-2011
This is when the sun is more
than just the sun, but I cannot
give it a better name, and you,
whoever you will become, will relearn
the sun as brighter than a penny.
A penny, that if tasted, tastes like blood
and the beginning of blood. R,
this is me speaking to you:
a poem where your chair will bare
its bones to an empty house.
Mellowed light will stain
the curtains gold. Weightless,
and un-hurting now, your hands
won’t disturb the window’s lace
to show the neighborhood your new
and vanished self, standing, not standing,
as you hover moth-like
on your ghost’s difficult net.
And wherever you are now,
I’d like to know the color of the sky,
because I will not imagine it here.
I will not make a metaphor of you either.
Instead, in this poem, you are yourself,
waving goodbye on your way
to the Cumberland river,
pulling your boat behind your car
like a boy and his roan horse
off to split the warm wind
with their teeth and chests, wet and white
below the sun’s burst fist.
Melissa Cundieff-Pexa is the author of a chapbook, Futures with Your Ghost. Her poems are forthcoming or most recently appear in journals such as Bat City, Mid-American, Tupelo Quarterly, The Collagist, and Gargoyle. She received her MFA from Vanderbilt in 2012, where she was the recipient of an Academy of American Poets Prize. She lives in Ithaca, NY with her family.