More Poems by Cecelia Night Vision Spinning Wheels Wish Drawing Lesson Song for the End of May Without Passage More About Cecelia

Cecelia Hagen The Visitors I went on a three-day binge-- too much everything. When I came back the ground was scattered with rust. Rain at the wrong time can shorten the shortest of lives. Why now? is a dismal question for a dismal day. If itís true the dead come back in time to admire the lilacs, it must because they remember something that weíve forgotten-- theyíre beyond changing and we live in a turmoil of change, pulling sweetened air into our lungs as if it would never end. I walked on a crowded lawn in the cool dark. People stood in clusters clutching drinks, dressed for some occasion. One man grabbed me and planted a long waltz of a kiss. The next day the lilacs opened their fists to drink in the spring. Everything is like a heart, tragically practical. Three shades of lilacs in her hair, she parks her blue bicycle to photograph my bleeding heart. Iím in the kitchen, on the phone. watching through the blinds, the trellis, the leaves. The conversation is work and continues without interruption but her face is beautiful, graced by the flowers I long to gather.