To wear a head of seeds
after such thick gold
is gone has its own relief.
No fragrance or pool
of nectar left, no heavy-
footed bee to plant herself
on solid petals now gone;
now there’s space between
each ray that makes
this airy orb, and hours
left to listen to the whispers
of the wind, intact, before
the seeds move off.
To be oneself alone and many—
this is the force that keeps
a hollow stem upright,
this bright head round
and full and, still, not divided yet.
Published in Cider Press Review, Volume 19, Issue 2.
Gigi Marks lives in Ithaca, New York. She regularly publishes poems in numerous literary journals. Her collections of poems include, most recently, Close By, published by Silverfish Review Press in 2012, What We Need, published by Shortline Editions, and Shelter, published by Autumn House Press.
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