I Don’t Know How I Know This
By
Jennifer Angelina Petro
Inside the uplift of death—that moment–
When the white doors open
You will fly out of yourself long enough
To fly back into yourself in one terrible
And freeing inhaling exhale.
Daffodils lose their vibrant trumpets
To the sunlight, irises curl in on themselves
And alliums drop their radiating, purple petals to the ground.
Cherry blossoms scatter their thousand, million pink pieces
Of exquisite beauty into a spring wind that rouses
The mind to start moving on those plans laid out in winter,
And you cannot help but stare, and weep with such joy the moment
Uplifts and white doors open, and you fly into yourself
Long enough to fly back out yourself in one orgasmic,
Eternal—breath-catching inhaling exhale.
And when the sidewalks become dusted
In deep pink—so much so you cannot see the gray ground—
White doors open and you fly out of yourself long enough
To never return to the state of unnoticing.
Every moment we build up and break down,
We dissolve, we sag closer to the earth,
Our muscles loosen, our jaws slacken,
And we become like fragile, spring birds long enough
To breathe into ourselves, long enough
To exhale one last time into the air—
Just strong enough to blow open the white doors
And get swept up into the uplift where all the trumpeting
Daffodils wait, where all the irises unfurl
Their sex to the sky, where all the alliums burst
Purple bulbs from their tall, slender stalks, like
Slow motion fireworks—
There you will stay long enough
To bloom the fragrance
Of a life well lived into the ever spring
Of God.
