Lost Country of Light
But I am not trying to get to heaven.
I am trying to get to earth.
– Christopher Camuto
June sun, so longed for in December,
paints a burning light upon my neck
as I hoe the garden or pick raspberries
along the ditches. By early afternoon
I’ve had enough and retreat to the trees,
into broken shadows dim as the back
of the closet where I put things
that shouldn’t be forgotten: the field
where my grandfather planted beans;
the last cow my family owned;
the hay rake that turned the cut grass
into windows; the bell on the back porch
my grandmother rang when she heard
her son had died in the war.