A poem written with a beginning and end borrowed from two different poets by Corynn Bernhardt

A poem written with a beginning and end borrowed from two different poets.

By Corynn Bernhardt

I don’t love you as if you were a rose of salt, topaz,

Burnt orange edges of a piece of paper,

Fumes singeing the ends of your nostril hairs.

There was a time in December when the rain stopped.

For that brief moment I could see, finally.

I remember how the dirt used to be

Where the grass is now, mowed and perfect green.

It was soft, the dirt, full of health, foot sinking with

Every step. The pieces spilling in over the tops of your shoes

Or filling in between your bare toes.

Walking over bridges was like walking over redundancy.

You can’t leave anything behind while just

Walking. You have to get a raft

And cross that river, ore in hand, current fighting.

When you reach the middle of the river there, you have

The choice: go back now? Or continue to the other side.

Both distances the same.

When you reach the other side, you step out of

Your raft. You’ll take off your life jacket,

And like the baggage you carried with you

At the beginning, you’ll toss it back.

You’ll turn in your wet shoes and leave it behind.

You chose to move on to the other side,

Where blue and green and sorrow were.

On the new side, there is red and gold, like a lit candle.

You chose your independence

In the universal sun.