Poem Boxes
Poem Box #1: The Radish-detail
copper, enamel, paper
2 x 5 x 4
1985
I grasp at the root of my weakness
Grappling with it half-heartedly.
But if I ever get a real hold on it
I'm never letting go.
I'll hold on for dear life,
Though it lifts me up
And carries me over iron mountains.
I'll hang on and trail behind
Like heron's feet
Until I drag it down
And consume it
With my unremitting effort.
Grabbing the radish
By its leafy base,
It pulls easily
From the loose earth.
I bite into its round, red root.