The Fieldstone Review


by Katherine DeCoste

Let this anger too be tender.
Let the tide go out still aching for the shore.
Let the crow shatter already-dead bodies.
Let the driftwood church burn before morning.
Let the morning break tuneless and dry.
Let the grief litany itself.
Let the body its own ash swallow.
Let this tenderness too be anger.
Let me number each wave where it falls.
Let the crow light the kindling.
Let the driftwood church burn before mourning.
Let the mourning be tuneless and high.
Let the litany grieve itself.
Let the body be its own ash. Wallow.