I want to be

I want to be the tremor of petals

when a bee comes to sweep up pollen.

I want to be the pause between phrases

of a mourning song, listening for the

heart to beat, feeling the lung inflate.

I want to be the butter melting across

the corn rows of a summer supper on 

the porch. 

I want to be the hand holding someone’s 

head as it is gently laid to rest on a pillow.

I want to be the utmost leaf on the tallest

tree, behind my house, to catch the sun 

as it sneaks into my yard.

I want to be a baby’s breath as it laughs

at magic no one knows.

And, now I see I can be each of these 

Poetry says so. 

—Martha Ward