Poem: When it comes

For the thing which I greatly feared is come upon me, and that which I was afraid of is come unto me.

  • Job 3:25

Water the daisies.

Watch the dirt turn dark

with relief.

Love the bees.  Like you, they have

names and middle names,

memories, deaths.

Open your hand

to the tug and huff

of toddlers, the macaroni on the table

hardened to half-smiles, half-moons.

Watch the fish rise

from the lake of childhood.

See how they’re filled by the fruit of air.

Refine stillness. Let the good milk spill.

Praise each freckle,

a star in a constellation

of your vast fleshy galaxy.

Thank it —

what eats your heart

into grave simplicity, leaving it

easy to pack, the pit of a plum.

Guard your true promise. Be lucid

and wide. Animal-soft. Full as a bride.

What matters is nearly

invisible. Search for it

snout-like, close to the ground,

bloodhound sharp

and howl.

Poetry curated by Utah poet laureate Lisa Bickmore.

This story appears in the January/February 2024 issue of Deseret Magazine. Learn more about how to subscribe.