Poetry by Margaret D. Stetz
Headlong into glass
two collisions
in rapid succession
after the crashes
wreckage outside the door
small bodies sprawl motionless
on a cold morning.
What compels me to push
beyond the door
to sit down on grass
in nightgown, slippers
to gather their corpses?
Cradling both in flannel-sheathed hollows
staring at membranes closed over eyes
at beaks gaping emptily
ignoring the chill through my legs
I see—movement.
Then pouring my heat and will
into the moment
watching as one
then the other
slowly
looks back.
(Is this how a surgeon feels
holding a heart as it beats?)
They owe me nothing—
the same miracle likely
to happen without me
their crimson breasts already skyward
harder to follow.
But if only they could
raise me too
high higher
never again
to enter that house
to stand hopeless
unrescued
from crashes collisions
behind the door
Margaret D. Stetz is the Mae and Robert Carter Professor of Women’s Studies and Professor of Humanities at the University of Delaware. She began writing poetry again after several decades away from it. Her new work has appeared in “Azure,” “Existere,” “Review Americana,” Kerning, and many other journals.
