Your heart broke open inside of mine
the night on the Biltmore veranda
when cigar smoke hovered above us,
your hand slipped on the wet scotch glass, and
you told me about becoming a man the morning your dad died.
(for Mercy June)
She tickled this red, fallen leaf
in her still-sticky, small fingers
and smiled, so surprised to find
it in her path.
This grace, my love, always pick it up
no matter the state of things
or from where you’ve come
when it finds you.
This gift that surprises and delights
will heal and comfort, my sweet girl.
Just always pick it up.