MORNINGGLORY

“I have had more than half a century of such happiness. A great deal of worry and sorrow, too, but never a worry or a sorrow that was not offset by a purple iris, a lark, a bluebird, or
a dewy morning glory.”

                                                                                — Mary McCloud Bethune

Today we will become morning glories,

desperate to climb, twist, and flower –

our veins will harden into vines

and we will meet bodies filled with organs

yet encountered. Our blood will tint our petals

and though the red liquid dulls,

it will never drip away. I’ll don my heart on my leaves,

you will too, and though you can’t hold me

and I can’t hold you,

we will still bend a gentle bow to one another

and bear our bitter seeds to the world.

Our capsules may be fragile

but we will name them still,

and when they burst on the ground we will smile,

laugh, hoping the earth covers our holy litter.

This day we will give ourselves to the sunshine,

allow the wind to move us, pray to stay rooted

and know that tomorrow we might be anything else

but for this moment, dew slicked in early summer,

we’ll only rise to wonder: what is black love if not religious—

if not brimming with morning praise?

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