Kate DeLay | Poetry

There was no one left to hold my hand. This is how

I came upon the calf. Her eyes were dark, so dark, I could make out my outline

inside them, the field stretching up & away

behind me. There was no end to

the weeds. Under the low, deep green heat, my throat grew a stalk of

spiderwort. I held it under my tongue like a truth.

    Please    I said to the calf    it’s getting dark

& the calf went on looking

through me.  How can we bear it    I went on    what happened after

    what happened    & my outline grew fuzzy under

her bristle of eyelashes. She blinked slowly as I pled

with her. Her tail flicked left & right. I could see her heart

outside her heart. The weeds were trying to split

out of me, make a mess of my teeth.

The last light fell away from us &

the field of weeds swam indigo. In the dark, one of us asked    is there

nothing to remember or do I remember    nothing

    & one of us replied    is it enough to tell a true story

So we fell into the blue night. So I could no longer see the end of

myself. Only us, nose to nose, gentle creature of

our breath against our cheek. So we grew a tongue of weeds. Indigo

bled into the gapless night. We shared

a shadow. Anything could be true. We promise.

We were living. We were dying.