Two Poems

Requiem for the Ginkgo 

the ginkgo tree: living stem

pushing up through the hole

in our weather-worn deck,

thickening with each year's callous

as the harvested lumber desiccates to rot;

a glorious gift from the previous

owners: faceless, benevolent gods

who granted us that small sip of beauty.

one day each fall we circle its trunk,

bathed in the gold flecks of a thousand

fluttering geisha fans, as the tree

unfetters its riches upon our

impoverished open palms, reaching

up, up, trying to grasp the essence 

of that beautiful, ritual death.

Praise Her

tired breaths of menthol incense 

hung on holy air

& grew stale  

waiting for the second coming

the walls dripped

yellow with the years 

of two-cent philosophy 

clucked in cliché

scarlet lacquered nails 

rap-tip-tapped the table

& ripped fabric for rag dolls

lipstick on filters in the ashtray;

lipstick cinching the corners 

of a powdered, fallen face

what paste might recolor 

her grayed offal meats

wrapped in white paper 

& forgotten in the icebox?

yet the older grandchildren claim 

sloe-gin sap even still bleeds through 

the sepia tones of her photographs

revealing the legacy of a crimson 

red queen of a heart

they say 

she once burned with the fury of a thousand scarlet suns

& threw herself into pentecost 

to lap up tongues of fire & swallow

unconsecrated experience in great thirsty gulps

but let this story 

take the general course: 

pain cooled passion to milk-mild

routine, & still her habit of love 

beat on like an ancient obligation

—Sarah Yost

ⓒ Sarah Yost 2008