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Shenandoah Home

WRITTEN ON THE DUE DATE FOR
A SON NEVER BORN

by David Wojahn

Echinacea, bee balm, aster.  Trumpet vine
I watch your mother bend to prune, water

sluicing silver from the hose --
                                              another morning
you will never see. Summer solstice: dragonflies flare
the unpetaled rose. 6 a.m.
                                            & already
she's breaking down, hose flung to the sidewalk

where it snakes & pulses in a steady
keening glitter, both hands to her face. That much

I can give you of these hours.
                                                  That much only.
Fist & blossom forged by salt, trellising

your wounded helixes against our days,
tell us how to live
                                for we are shades, facing

caged the chastening sun. Our eyes
are scorched & lidless. We cannot bear your light