Repair
by SHAWN FAWSON
Over the dead faces in the paper, I smear
glue around the chip on the Delft plate,
swell of a field in which the pampas grass
writes this poem picking itself up one blade
at a time. I hardly know you. You, a crowd
in the field where nothing grows but stones.

I don’t want you to die. I’m thinking of the spirits
though none will come in a form I could ever
recognize––this willow rimmed in blue, fingered
to the shape of thin rain; this color no longer
matches itself drying on the evening
paper, a blur of dew, and you let go.

SHAWN FAWSON resides with her two daughters in Denver, Colorado, where she studies in the MDIV Program at the Iliff School of Theology with the hopes of bringing the intersections of poetry and pastoral care to the actual world. Her book "Giving Way" was published by The Bitter Oleander Press in 2010 and won the Utah Book Award for Poetry in 2011. Her work has appeared in Natural Bridge, Vallum, and Mid-American Review, among others. She holds an MFA from Vermont College of Fine Arts.