“Trembling on the Skin of a Droplet,” by Emily Pittinos, appears in the Winter 2019 Issue of MQR.
Frost softens into steam that spills off the morning,
and at the tip of each blade, a diamond quivers.
I am as susceptible to beauty as I am any other pain.
The pang of clouds dulling, and then the rain
obliterated to mist by the wind.
Water in the air
can grey distance—that ghost of an egret poised at the edge
of the pond—but then, the grass dry and ordinary by noon.
How much awe have I missed by looking away?
How much pain?
I turn to you without remembering what we decided
in the end, whether to keep our distance, or to close it.
As the outer wonders shift—awe into threat
into the threat grown tiresome—
desire returns. This poor, dumb animal,
see her light out into the day,
both after prey and as.
Purchase MQR 57:5 or consider a one-year subscription to read more.
This poem appears in the Winter 2019 Issue of MQR.
