A few weeks ago I read a poem in Ted Kooser’s column. I liked the poem so much I looked up the poet, Amy Fleury, and bought her latest book, Sympathetic Magic. Every single poem is incredibly good. Seriously. I don’t remember the last time I read a collection of poetry that didn’t have even one weak poem. Here is one of my favorites:
When at Last I Join
When at last I join the democracy of dirt,
a tussock earthed over and grass healed,
I’ll gladly conspire in my own diminishment.
Let a pink peony bloom from my chest
and may it be visited by a charm of bees,
who will then carry the talcum of pollen
and nectar of clover to the grove where they hive.
Let the honey they make be broken
from comb, and release from its golden hold,
onto some animal tongue, my soul.