Today I received a box from Finishing Line Press that contained author copies of my new book of poems, “That Fall.” They spilled out on the dining room table and I pondered the wild journey these poems have taken from the the quiet of my studio to the press and now into the world. Here is a poem from this collection:
SURRENDER
Just like that truck on the exit ramp, I see
the S-curve too late and my load inside begins
to shift: A slumber party of fresh pears falling
over themselves in the dark, their ambrosial scent
the first hint of ruin. It’s not the pedal
but momentum that pitches me up and over
the guardrail. The bay below rises like a Baptism.
All those pears in concert roll forward and the whole
rig aches between the fruit’s amber blushing
and the whitecaps chanting. Who’s to say
what timeless words are spoken in that instant
between “Yes!” and “Oh no”? Perched in such
a silent space an ocean opens up. I plunge
into the drink, pear juice dripping into salt.
Christine Hemp
