H. L. Davis. Open Hands. Harriet Monroe, ed. Poetry: A Magazine of Verse. 1912-22

Harriet Monroe, ed. (1860–1936). Poetry: A Magazine of Verse. 1912–22.

Open Hands

By H. L. Davis


ANSWER, now you watch the full stalks of ironweed break
And carry their red seed among the leaves; and spray
Beats them from the wind.

“I wish that sowing ironweed seed,
With children bringing me full stalks, running to the orchard	5
To strip seed for me, took my time now. Their wet hands!
This grass, white-headed because the seed’s threshed, raked
The sand rising when I imagined love, when I was
Too proud for children. Go down again—they are grown—
You sand moving, you sharp duning sand, sing against	10
The dead grass-blades, and fall here and cover me. Fill my hands.
Dry me out like dead bird-quills, milk my strength still. I know
That spirit is come to an end. There is no pain.”

You talk to the sand: and let me go, let me go.
When the wind rose I thought that spirit knew of the sand	15
And desired voice and hands; and that I knew that strength.
But your words hold me too close to my own grief,
And make me remember what I desired, and know.