The absolute
messiness of indecision,
the absolute messiness of
dirt on the floor, the absolute
messiness of how I got here. I carry
the landscape, generations of hopes
and desires, in this thin china cup that
has lasted several centuries. My daughter
from China does not dip into the tea of my
ancestors, she frees the space in my heart to love
her so fiercely, her ancestors protect her, a child of
my heart not my loins. Beets and cherries on white linen
napkins that capture the curve of the cup gently cracked
with
age, the cup I gingerly took, perhaps with permission, yes
with
permission. They didn’t know what they were giving, or I
was
taking. On the cup, lovers whose families don’t want them
to be together turn into birds who pause in the air above
their
home. I fly with my love in my arms. Red-tailed comet
hummingbirds,
our throats and underparts pale buff, heads and backs
shining green, and oh, our tail-feathers of reddish-
bronze, cast way past our bodies, we belong to
the tribe lesbiini, Sappho sparganarus. Beets
and cherries, hay bales in the wind, catching
fire. Time beats to wings that desire no
more than is offered, a breadcrumb no
better than silt. So I’ll mix and unmatch
and find the two reds that want to be
together, topped with nightshade,
the pinkish rhubarb my grand-
mother loved. So now in my
home many miles away I
make a brew, two reds,
beets and cherries
steeping in a stew
only I can eat,
my very own
brew.
Pamela Butler is a neuroscientist and poet. Her research examines the fragmented ways in which people with severe mental illness sometimes perceive the world. Her poetry and essays have appeared in The Ravens Perch, Beyond Words Magazine, and the World Women in Neuroscience Newsletter. She lives in New York City.
