The poplars, stupid with brittleness,
hang huge over our house.
In the black and white night
I scan their erratic shadows,
listen to them heave.
Our heads sleep in a dormer,
the ceiling like a lean-to.
I calculate how fast I could push you
off the bed to safety between the crack
of breakage and the thunder of roof crush.
At what angle to shove so you don’t hit
your head on the nightstand. How much
of your body I can cover with mine.
There were years my mother barely
slept, worrying that the dying live oak
out back would fall and crush us.
The nights a suffocation of dread,
the window panes a dim mirror.
I lived in a burrow of worry
when my sister was a teenager—
her so beautiful, the crazy of the world
so hungry. Tragedy a spread-the-wealth
socialist, quick as a hummingbird.
Don’t get me started on car wrecks,
planes, bombs, and mass shooters.
I steel myself to let you leave the house,
your suit and tie a target or a shield
for calamity undeterred by sunshine.
Every place where I touch your sleeping
body, your heartbeat leaps up to meet
my hand. Thigh, back, bicep, cheek—
pumping proof you still exist.
You mutter, lean into my palms.
I leave my hands tucked against you,
soaking in the nuances of happiness,
the absolute terror of love.
To read more of Abigail Beckel’s poetry, go to www.depoetry.com/poets/201601/02_abigail_beckel.html.
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The Delaware Poetry Review, or DePoetry.com, is an online compilation of amazing, contemporary poetry gathered by a group of erudite editors based in the Mid-Atlantic Region. This notable compilation of poetry has been available since 2007, publishing new editions about once a year.
Each edition features a variety of poets chosen by the editors. This blog features our published poets.
More new works from the Mid-Atlantic Region are available at DePoetry.com. For feedback, contact depoet@capegazette.com or go to facebook.com/delawarepoetryreview.
