Bright Bloom
I wish I had hiked the frozen hill tonight
for reception, called to tell you I had a good time
hearing the two Somali cab drivers laughing
near an avalanche of on-sale oranges.
I played a prince in absolute awe
as the orchestra soared. I wish I had braved
the snow to say, I ain't want nothing but got the world.
How I’ll whisper about the one wasp
who lived with me here through all of October,
that snowy owl in the nettles so close inland
in November, the night, its lick of moon. Tell me again
what your home looks like: wet grapefruit pulp,
pomegranate juices running over fingers
as the fruit is split, every dirt smudge
on the cream carpet. The morning sunlight dancing
off shards of glass, knocking perfume bottles
and photographs, light emptying into itself like a sun
at the center of a sun. This life of little regret
with no sad trombones. I imagine a new year
caked with your grin, your unflagging belief
in the bright bloom, the point just before liberation.
The road will end one day, but on all other days,
it does not. Think, my love, of all the stars
where better versions are breathing.
Notes:
Cento by Helene Achanzar with lines from Michelle Alexander, Musu Bangura, Philip Berezney, Alyx Chandler, Larry O. Dean, Teresa Dzieglewicz, Ola Faleti, Marty McConnell, Maya Odim, C. Russell Price, Leslie Reese, Timothy David Rey, Kevin Rooney, B. Metzger Sampson, Luis Tubens, and Joy Young.
Copyright Credit: Poem commissioned by the Poetry Foundation in celebration of the Chicago Poetry Center's 50th anniversary and the exhibition A Bigger Table: 50 Years of the Chicago Poetry Center, June 27–September 14, 2024.