A Goldfinch Sits and the Whole Branch Turns to Gold
~ Christine Choi
Every window hangs open—
this is what spring mornings smelled like as a little girl
sauntering down unpaved roads looking for snapdragons.
I dreamt that I slept in the back of your truck
under a thin layer of soil and seeds.
You touched my face and said,
“With a bit of sun, I bet they’ll sprout.”
I am not a soldier; I was raised by strawberries.
I fell in love in holy places, in pieces,
between mountains. I swam in the Yuba River,
the Kings River, the Russian River, and the shockingly cold Pacific,
breathless to become whole.
We can’t stay.
Time doesn’t wait on people. It sheds
and makes space for the furred thoraxes of moths.
You said you just needed a long, deep sleep.
You didn’t get in the ambulance.
