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  • Claire Thompson

Claire's Poetry Corner | Oct 2

First Thought

by Lorna Dee Cervantes

best thought, you had taught

me — a river runs through it,

the foot of the soul standing

stubbornly in the freeze, all

the shards of ice crumpling up

the banks, what survives

in the ignorance. Play it away.

Be ceremony. Be a lit candle

to what blows you. Outside,

the sun gives a favorite present,

mountain nests in ironic meadows,

otter takes off her shoes, the small

hands of her feet reaching, reaching; still,

far away people are dying. Crisp

one dollar bills fold another life.

You taught me to care in the moment,

carve day into light, or something,

moving in the west that doesn't destroy

us. Look again, in the coming summer,

the cruelest month alive still eats up

the hours. Regret is an uneven hand,

a rough palm at the cheek — tender

and calloused. I drink another glass

of water, turn on the tap

for what grows, for you,

for what lasts, for the last

and the first found thought of you.

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