Amherst Ballad 8
At the center of your Room –
Like a Moth – Affixt –
Your milk-color Dress – Bodice for Head –
Wings for Skirt –
As if – you knew – we would Leave – in Space –
One of us – All in White –
To twist in the Wind – Millennia –
In a Hothouse – Mushroom – Suit.
A Soul – can Float – a Loon – alone.
The Solar System – with its Bones
And along its Body – can Orbit –
A Fascicle – a Dropped Glove.
Thank You – for your – Company –
In Grief – in Fury – Craving – Wit –
And your Courage – Isolate
Which Honed – Desire – to Wedge.
Where Solar Wind – Begins to Stop –
You went through – Termination – Shock –
And Infindibulum – and Through
No Pasaran! –
And Solar Unconformity
Until – Permanent Momentum –
And then you Lit the White-hot Iron
Chrysanthemum.
Sharon Olds leads poetry workshops in the Graduate Program in Creative Writing at New York University. She lives on Bleecker Street.