Dear columbine, dear engine by Melissa Stein

View this email on a browser Forward to a friend October 28, 2014   Dear columbine, dear engine   Melissa Stein

Dear columbine, dear engine. Mere water will force a flower open. Then with a touch the beautiful intact collapses into color filament and powder. It’s all my fault. All hands on deck to help collect what’s spilled. That could be me beneath a bridge. Torn up beside the road, a bloat of skin and fur. Afloat in bathtub, clean, blue-lipped, forgiven. Face-down in the snow. Why do you imagine these terrible things? asks my mother, or her ghost. Because the paper’s crisp and white. Because no slate’s unwritten. Because the ant that scaled this flower head has nowhere else to go.            Copyright © 2014 by Melissa Stein. Used with permission of the author. About This Poem   “When my first book Rough Honey came out, my mother called me with a single, fraught question: ‘All those things in your book—did they really happen to you?’ At the time, I simply said, no. This poem explores the question.” —Melissa Stein   Melissa Stein is the author of Rough Honey (Copper Canyon Press, 2010). She is a freelance editor and writer in San Francisco. Most Recent Book by Stein   Rough Honey (Copper Canyon Press, 2010) "While Writing" by Noelle Kocot "The Everyday Enchantment of Music" by Mark Strand "Last Night," by Michael Border Poem-a-Day   Launched during National Poetry Month in 2006, Poem-a-Day features new and previously unpublished poems by contemporary poets on weekdays and classic poems on weekends. Thanks for being a part of the Academy of American Poets community. To learn about other programs, including National Poetry Month, Poem in Your Pocket Day, the annual Poets Forum, and more, visit Poets.org.   You are receiving this e-mail because you elected to subscribe to our mailing list. If you would like to unsubscribe, please click here.   © Academy of American Poets 75 Maiden Lane, Suite 901, New York, NY 10038