The periodic pleasure
of small happenings,
is upon us-
behind the stalls
at the farmer's market
snow glinting in heaps,
a cardinal its chest
puffed out, bloodshod
above the piles of awnings,
passion's proclivities;
you picking up a sweet potato
turning to me 'This too?'-
query of tenderness
under the blown red wing.
Remember the brazen world?
Let's find a room
with a window onto elms
strung with sunlight,
a cafe with polished cups,
darling coffee they call it,
may our bed be stoked
with fresh cut rosemary
and glinting thyme,
all herbs in due season
tucked under wild sheets:
fit for the conjugation of joy.

About this poem
"In order to make a wedding poem for my friend Leah, I drew on something that has almost become a ritual-each Saturday morning my husband David and I walk north, to the farmer's market by Isham woods, in the northern end of Manhattan Island. Then, bags laden with fruit and vegetables, we go for coffee. Sitting in the coffee shop, I started to conceive of this poem."
-Meena Alexander


About Meena Alexander

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(c) 2015 Meena Alexander. Originally published by the Academy of American Poets, www.poets.org. Distributed by King Features Syndicate