\u201c\u2026Speak to me. Take my hand. I will tell you all.
\nI will conceal nothing\u2026Fist my mind in your hand.
\nWhat are you now?…\u201d<\/p>\n
-from Effort at Speech Between Two People by Muriel Rukeyser \u201c\u2026Speak to me. Take my hand. I will tell you all. I will conceal nothing\u2026Fist my mind in your hand. What are you now?…\u201d -from Effort at Speech Between Two People by Muriel Rukeyser Let us together you and I open our hands to what we love. Meet me in your driveway. I will [&hellip<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":11793,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[4],"tags":[376,149],"class_list":["post-11737","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","has-post-thumbnail","hentry","category-poetry","tag-reach-out-and-touch-by-istolethetv","tag-wikicommons"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/narrativenortheast.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/11737","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/narrativenortheast.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/narrativenortheast.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/narrativenortheast.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/narrativenortheast.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcomments&post=11737"}],"version-history":[{"count":7,"href":"https:\/\/narrativenortheast.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/11737\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":11794,"href":"https:\/\/narrativenortheast.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/11737\/revisions\/11794"}],"wp:featuredmedia":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/narrativenortheast.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/media\/11793"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/narrativenortheast.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fmedia&parent=11737"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/narrativenortheast.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcategories&post=11737"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/narrativenortheast.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Ftags&post=11737"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}
\n
\nLet us together you and I open our hands
\nto what we love. Meet me in your driveway. I will bring
\ngooseberry jam and you will offer sweet piesporter wine.
\nI will pack a picnic hamper of goat cheese
\nlatticed with cranberries and orange rind. There will be
\nJapanese potato salad with slivers of Persian cucumbers.
\nThere will be stew of red lentils swimming in coconut milk.
\n
\nWe will sit by the river listening to water move over rocks. I
\nwill bring a red feather boa draped around my neck and shoulders.
\nI offer you a robin\u2019s egg blue scarf wrapped in lemon pastel tissue paper.
\n
\nAnd we will toast the holy ghosts of those we have loved. Tell stories
\nof how our mothers came to us from the other side. Tell stories
\nof those whispering so soft we must press ears to lips. Tell stories
\nof those who remain silent.
\n
\nWe will read poems by the river until dusk. Rumi. Whitman.
\nDickinson. Laux. Shihab Nye. We have forgotten how to pray.
\nI used to know the incantation for the souls in purgatory.
\nIn the name of the bird and the butterfly and the bee. Amen.
\n
\nWe will light sandalwood candles. Send luminaries
\ndown the river. We will wear earrings that dangle onto our shoulders,
\nsignally our movements ever so slight ever so bold to fish and fowl.
\nWe will announce our presence in this world with wine on our breathing
\nand pussy willow blossoms in our hands. There will be orange tiger lilies
\nwoven in our hair. And we will sound the singing bowl sitting down
\nby the river. Vibrations around our candle fire. Holy communion
\nof sourdough loaf. I will bring clover honey from the market in Tupelo.
\nBricks of butter infused with sea salt and olive oil. Pralines
\nfrom that roadside stand in Buford, Georgia.
\n
\nWe will dress for dinner. Swishy skirts and bangles and hats
\nwith translucent baubles flourishing the brim. I will spread
\nCasablanca Plum gloss on my lips. You arrive with Flashmob Fuschia
\nlipstick. We have painted our nails neon. We glow in the evening.
\nWe refuse shoes reject sandals, exchanging wool socks
\nfor a tender bed of clover.
\n
\nYour daughter is the secret you keep at your center. You refuse
\nto allow the priest to soot her forehead. Saying no to smudging her
\nwith ash. Shielding her from the dust to dust.
\n
\nAfter such loss how do we perform the simple tasks? Wash dishes.
\nScour pots. I want to break every plate on the edge of the sink.
\nI fold laundry. Towels tucked into perfect rectangles. Solace
\nin seams matched up end on end. Peace in color coordinated stacks.
\nA tower of towels. I once knew a woman who reveled in ironing.
\nShe labored to the voice of Walter Cronkite, the most trusted man
\nin America. All those creases and collars hammered down
\nby the steam. Housedresses all in a row from light to dark. A carefully
\nconstructed closet of clothes suspended on wire hangers.
\n
\nOnce I emptied my whole refrigerator. Crammed everything down the garbage
\ndisposal with a splintered wooden spoon. Electric grind. Devouring week-old
\nslabs of salmon loaf. Yams sprouting vines. The sad eyes of potatoes.
\nCilantro shriveled on the stem. Bratwurst gone pale grey. One afternoon
\nI drizzled expired cream into porcelain cups filled with lukewarm tea.
\nWatched the cream curdle into sour hieroglyphics. Sketched these abstracts
\ninto a watercolor binder. I study and decipher each one when sleep is stubborn.
\n
\nBut today we will let honey drizzle out of the corners of our painted mouths.
\nWe will dab almond extract behind our ears, in the soft bends of our knees.
\nI have stitched all these scarves together. A picnic blanket of scarves. And
\nwhen our poetry picnic is consumed, I will wrap you in this tapestry of
\nscarves. I place the amber pashmina from the Istanbul market around your face.
\nHijab in this western hemisphere. Permission to enter any sacred space.
\n
\nI have salve for your blistered palms, here in my breast pocket.
\nIn this meadow of ferns and wildflowers, we are palm to palm.
\n
\nTell me the story of your hands.
\nOf each ring on your fingers.
\nTell me of holding your hand out
\nto what you love.
\n
\nAfter having taught middle and high school English for 32 years, Marianne Forman is now nurturing her own creative spirit. She has spent three summers in Guizhou Province, teaching best practices to teachers in China. She received Fulbright-Hays Awards to Nepal (2003) and Turkey (2009). Marianne participated in Marge Piercy\u2019s Juried Intensive Poetry Workshop (2016). Marianne\u2019s poetry appears in Muddy River Poetry Review, Belle Reve Literary Journal, Jelly Bucket Journal<\/em>, among others. She has a collection of poetry from Shadelandhouse Modern Press.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"