SARA MURPHY
STRETCHING TOWARD SPRING
On days of bitter cold when I cannot
pinpoint my life’s achievements up to date
and frost stings reddened fingers in this march
while I peer inward looking for a sign
Then do I turn to memories of old times
then do I think of people once so near
How is it that the ones we love completely
become the easiest lovers to lose?
Bereft I feel at times, and alone now
returning to picture shows of good years
when I was whole and young and more alive
and did not depend on books for comfort
Dead sages and poets send me a sign
please guide me in these uncharted waters
I believe in you though I doubt my strength
Won’t you slip into my most scented dreams?
Wink or nod slowly; it would mean so much
I’ve never been afraid to swim alone
I’ve never been afraid to sing to trees
but I fear throwing away this lone life
Impetuous, foolhardy girl that I am
I fear death and not being remembered
and life’s brevity, with all its chances
that are not taken or just pushed aside
For the rainiest day that does not come
People my dreams, then, you sages of old
I beg you to whisper your approval
Never did a girl need it more than I
YOU DON’T NEED A WEATHER MAN TO KNOW
WHICH WAY THE WIND BLOWS
I dreamt last night
that I was living with Bob Dylan
only he was young
and I had long hair
I was kneading bread
barefoot
in a sun-smoked kitchen
the color of lemons
He knocked back whiskey
and strummed
at a low-slung table next to me
We talked of nothing
important
He reminded me to get
the oil changed
on the truck
I told him that the baby
had a cold
The kitchen smelled
like yeast and pot
as I set the loaves to rise
he absentmindedly
nudged my hip
I caught up his hand
kissing callused fingers
and slumped to the floor
dirty cracked linoleum
As I leaned my head
against his knee
I asked him to sing me
a song
I woke up humming
Subterranean Homesick Blues
and with a cheek ache
from smiling in my sleep