Yellow Medicine

by Sally Jo Sorensen

I know a man     whose eyes are not
that slate blue      or  those gray clouds 
or burr oaks or     cottonwood by water
but all of that     reflecting in the flow.

If you see him      in the city now
say         the rocks are warm
and water       cool in the quarry
we found     that day together:
I have not      thought
to take another there.

 

Comments

[Heather Miller]

The poem flows, ripples, watered silk, sky smooth, and echoing such deep tenderness, sadness, remembering remembering. I am haunted here. So completely charmed and convinced by the words and images and feelings. If this is a love poem, Sally Jo, it takes all prizes. But why use the British "grey" instead of the American, wind-blown prairie "gray?" My only nitpick. Thank you for this poem.

[Sally Sorensen]

You win! I changed it to the American spelling.

And thanks for the kind words. The poet thinks it's a poem of friendship, but you know what the New Critics said about what the poets think.

[Heather Miller]

I keep coming back to this, Sally Jo. Such a delight and a comfort to read, how it whispers and echoes and burrows deep into the heart. I believe you the master of the subtle knockout. You never let me down.