This ear, this heart inside

the gut that listens to each
clamor the body makes before
it even makes a sound—

So the nerves frill out
like wings, receptive to
the smallest rumor in the air:
trouble, mostly. But also,

the quieter waves that emanate
from joy, though they might seem
too rare. I’ve had a lifetime
of instruction, turning

my face to any coming wind.
Another name for it is mother;
in due time it finds
its twin in daughter.

That sense finds kin in any
particle that darkens rapidly
inside the hours: cloud, wave,
storm; each slip of moss

that sandals our feet as we run
across the stones, beguiled
by fruit gold-chalked, tumbled
from indifferent trees.

It may be late for me, but I
have only wished for you that
rupture, that gap between
arrival and threshold.

Poet Luisa A. Igloria (Poetry Foundation web page, author webpage ) is the winner of the 2015 Resurgence Prize (UK), the world’s first major award for ecopoetry, selected by former UK poet laureate Sir Andrew Motion, Alice Oswald, and Jo Shapcott. She is the author of What is Left of Wings, I Ask (2018 Center for the Book Arts Letterpress Chapbook Prize, selected by Natasha Trethewey); Bright as Mirrors Left in the Grass (Kudzu House Press eChapbook selection for Spring 2015), Ode to the Heart Smaller than a Pencil Eraser (Utah State University Press, 2014 May Swenson Prize), Night Willow (Phoenicia Publishing, 2014), The Saints of Streets (University of Santo Tomas Publishing House, 2013), Juan Luna’s Revolver (2009 Ernest Sandeen Prize, University of Notre Dame Press), and nine other books. She is a member of the core faculty of the MFA Creative Writing Program at Old Dominion University which she directed from 2009-2015. In 2018, she was the inaugural Glasgow Distinguished Writer in Residence at Washington and Lee University. When she isn’t writing, reading, or teaching, she cooks with her family, knits, hand-binds books, and listens to tango music.

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