The Poem as a Love Poem
And if the poem can be a love poem, in what
form does it begin and how does it open up?
I always think of the sunflowers and the roses
in the garden in this regard, how they open up at night
in the coolness under the cover of the moon
so that by morning the flowers have completely transformed themselves, the small pink buds washed over with dew and the sunflower petals
wildly agog with a yellow color from out of nowhere.
It is always a surprise and always seems unexplainable,
the bursting with life at the start of any day at all.
They must be how love opens up inside us, the way
it develops of its own even when we are not aware of it
I’ve tried to imitate the same today, spread my arms
open wide into the blue sky, pressing my fingers
along the edges of my blue shirt, holding on,
who could know the first kiss will last longer than expected,
years ago, I can still remember how I sat in the car
long after it was over as if we had opened up too,
knew what was there between us all along. How when we let it,
it all breaks fast, the poem, the sky, the kiss
About the Author: Charlene Langfur is an organic gardener, a rescued dog advocate, a Syracuse University Graduate Writing Fellow and her writing has most currently appeared in POETRY EAST and WEBER--THE CONTEMPORARY WEST (2016 and 2018). Her home is in the southern Californian desert.