Late Summer Elegy

Jody Rambo
| poetry


Lately, I feel the days fly out into the dark trees

and vanish.

Without you whose love was air-thin and particular,

I’m left these

daughter-hands of bone that do me little good,

arms fit

for nothing but wandering vast terrain. Restless,

attuned to

wayward frequencies, I crave the open space

of fields.

Sleep rinses me little clean—& the hours keep

opening their

dark show-boxes of emptiness. Each breath—

a white button

undone. See what our hands know? How to open

the earth

at summer’s end. Watch me, I say, queen of the shades,

watch me

from wherever you are, mother, the word on my lips

five shades

of white—chalk, milk, titanium, snow. First there’s a harvest.

Then a death.

Then a field where absence in wildness begins to grow.

Jody Rambo’s first collection, Tethering World, received the Wick Poetry Series Chapbook Award, and was published by Kent State UP in 2011. Recent work has appeared in Barrow Street, Colorado Review, Cutbank, Gulf Coast, Notre Dame Review, Virginia Quarterly Review, among others. She teaches at Wittenberg University in Springfield, Ohio.