Tom W. Lewis and Amy Souza

Amy Souza
Inspiration piece

Tom W. Lewis

— —

Horticultural Subjunctive

I broke my bones on prophecy
And ate the book she handed me.

Just another piece of pie. I’m waiting
For the all-American sister to sing

Her patient repetition of my fate.
It’s not enough for me to fill my plate

With theology. My garden collapses
Until the hour strikes, and shapes

Of celestial beings guide my hand
To pick up the parts broken off toward the end.

Shelf of riddles, confounding saints—
The ones abandoning ship, incontinent

Or leaning overboard at last, instinctively
Coming back to the realization that simplicity

Is a book worth eating. And in the garden
Where we lolled, there were no hard feelings,

The skin of us was as democratic as our spine,
Forged at random (we thought), a sign
That making was its own kingship, when

Sacrifice was a golden bird, and love
Asked only that we put off our shoes
And feel the grass. Proof enough
That passage opens wherever faith goes.

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