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

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