After Sorrow


I used to think    something good
must be coming
   when a day came
like this one    The light strong again
after rain    after the slow gathering-in
of the days    the nights   getting darker and colder
I am older now       A day comes
The poplars    not torches    but lit
with their own leaves dying       A mist
breathes out from the shining fields
And this is good       The light    the mist
the color of the leaves       A broken quorum
of brown wrens    flutter    and settle
their paths of flight binding up the branches
of a shattered apple tree   Abandoned
fruit gleams    wet and round and red
against the cracked black trunk
Something good    The present voices
of the birds    The sun rising in November

About the author(s)

This poem won first place in the 2007 BYU Studies poetry contest.


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