Elizabeth from Cascadilla Creek by Jordan Morton

Gray light of March
Pavement my path
To the front door that you open so joyfully

Day after day
Pencils in hand
Scribbling away at the blueprints of love
That you spread on the floor
and then tape together

But I come here
Only to see
Only to see your baby eyes light up
With the future you are imagining

But - how could you know the sudden blast of heartbreak?
Or know the sting of nails bit to the quick
Or how a dream can stick for years
How could you feel the silence at the bottom of your soul?
You’re just a child, and it won’t be me to tell you so

<berceuse>

Every time you ask me why
Why this or that, well I don’t know!
I’m not God, I’m just older than you
And likely more confused

But it seems you know
Deep in your rubbery core
Something I forgot long ago
Elisabeth please explain to me how you see this flower

Because I was once wrapped in the tissue of my mother’s womb and
I did once contemplate the microcosms in the grass and YES
I did once hear the highest notes like you my dear
And if I live eighty more years it’s so I can be you again

<berceuse>

When the fog
Comes rolling in
Breath of the North Atlantic drift is clouding my view
But I know you will clear my eyes again

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