If I Leap

Robin Carstensen

 October 10, 2021

                     dear nina

here we are

                                                     again    

                                           spread across mint green

          linen           like a bed of moss

               my palm       on your vibrating spine    

                      again

                                        but you can’t        know

              again                             no episodic

                                  frames  

                                                      or photos of us

              in your mind       to   remember

                          my laughter             or why        I laughed

                at your crab-             like hop

                                               or        my astonishment

                 that time we moved

                                           into our once-upon-a-time house

          Jo and I in a kitchen stand-off

                                         shearing the hot air   

      with our voices      faces

                     swollen        in misunderstanding   

       suddenly         you

              were    standing there

                                   at my left side

                                               on your twiggy hind legs

               your amber eyes    unfocused 

                                                    straining toward mine

                       your soft-padded paw     tapping

          my balled up hand                 like a young bird’s

                                       feathers

                      but your voice      it was     

     your chirping

                  voice        raspy      choked

     cut        and channeled

                                           us

                                                    to some core

                millennia ago

                                    when the first flower bloomed

                   then others all over 

          earth

                                petal soft

               light                        and          billowing 

                        nothing

reckless

                                                  as a thought

                                    here we are

            now and your velvet

                   Maine Coone fur rising

                                               and falling beneath my stroke

                          your cooing                  current

                                                   flowing through

                                   and through

                           like        a bamboo rain

     stick 

     tilting

                 razor clams    spindle shells

                chestnut turbans                            

                                            ivory tusks         

                   white cap limpets   

                                                 abalone                                             

                                                             sharp knobbed

                                           dog whelks

             slowly         back  

                                                    and       forth

                 wave  

                    upon    wave  

              upon      shore

                                                       you sound

                    like    a    buffalo drum

                                                      beating far away

                  and      in     the     forever      

                           hums       and glottal tongues            praising 

                                    the exquisite

                          wordless

                      as your timpani riff

                                                             endlessly rolling

                         through my hand           arms

                                chest                 my whole        this    

                glorious    now           how bliss                  

and still

                                for one moment       I can barely stop

          this aged habit                          this hobbled       

                                                wanting

                            thinking

             my human             if

                                                   I leap

           from this dazzling

                                        soft bed

                                                    of earth

before you do       will I

                             leave

                                              such   a     sacred

                               warm

impression?

Robin Carstensen’s manuscript In the Temple of Shining Mercy received the annual first-place award by Iron Horse Literary Press in 2017. Recent work has been published by FlowerSong Press, Jacar Press, and Lamar Press. She is co-founding senior editor for the Switchgrass Review, advises the Windward Review, and serves on the People’s Poetry Festival Committee.