When M told a poet, You are young and nothing is sacred,
we watched the smallest bloom on the seaside roses wilt.
It was a certain evening where nothing was happening.
It was a certain evening where strangers were building
wildflower museums. We are old and everything is
sacred—the fireweed is thigh-high and a friend is
dying, or the dandelions are. The things that give us
hives. Everything is equal when you’re devoted
to the afterlife. Did you know that nothing dies? is what
my nephew told me holding a dead moth he found
on a shelf in his room. You are young and everything is
sacred. He told me when he sees one of his chickens
has been killed by a weasel, he doesn’t tell his mom
because he hates to see the glitter of pain in her eyes.
There’s a sweetness of dying rose blossoms. Promise
me you won’t tell my mom about the moth, it’s part of her
name. When I ask him what he means he says, Mother,
and I see her as more than half wings—a woman and
son walking into the garden, her love of honeysuckle,
their dislike of fences, how everything in his eyes blooms.
Note: You are young and nothing is sacred is a line from Megan Fernandes’ poem “Brooklyn Sonnet.”
Kelli Russell Agodon
Kelli Russell Agodon is a bi/queer poet and editor from the Pacific Northwest. Her newest book, Dialogues with Rising Tides(Copper Canyon Press) was named a Finalist in the Washington State Book Awards and shortlisted for the Eric Hoffer Book Award Grand Prize in Poetry. She is the cofounder of Two Sylvias Press, where she works as an editor and book cover designer. She teaches at Pacific Lutheran University’s low-res MFA program, the Rainier Writing Workshop. Kelli is the cohost of the poetry series "Poems You Need" with Melissa Studdard. You can connect with her at www.agodon.com.
