Decades ago, mulberries dropped
on my back porch. Useless, over-sweet,
they made me think of love I longed for.
Now, in my yard, again I chop
their shoots, insistent. And I beat
back images, dizzying, still of her,
wanting to want what is. At night,
last out amidst cicada song,
I watch Mars burn, a small hot heart.
The air is silvery with moonlight;
it pours through everything. Belong,
belong, it tells me. I am a part.
–
Anne Myles is retiring this summer as associate professor of English at the University of Northern Iowa and beginning an M.F.A. in poetry at the Vermont College of Fine Arts. Her work has appeared or is forthcoming in several journals, including Lavender Review, Thimble Literary Magazine, Friends Journal, Isacoustic, Green Briar Review, and North American Review.