Meryl Stratford
Ancestors
As surely as Walt is the ground we walk on—
beautiful
carpet of grass,
dust under our feet—
Emily is the sky,
fierce as falling stars,
granting no wishes,
hymnist and heretic
indivisible,
jury of one.
Keep watch over your borders,
Lady of the Loaded Gun.
May we
never
open your book nor read your
poems with their
quaint capitals and
restless dashes, with their
syntax slight askew
too carelessly.
Unique soul,
vestal in
white,
exuberant bacchante,
you leave us
Zero at the Bone.