first concert of the year, montrose saloon, 6/4/21
the fiddle soars over our heads
to the ceiling, loud & florid in
the stifling air there.
low sun through the open back door
our bare arms almost stuck together
your face my moony joy—
to kiss your full, freckled cheek
to be pressed fast in your palms
what other bliss is there?
in this bar I swear
I’ll be your bonny sweetheart
abide the onrush of the enemy
so taken w/ you,
by the ferocious urge to stomp,
that I don’t realize I’ve blistered,
left a little blood inside my shoe.
it’s as if you barely breathe each old english t.
your tongue taps your teeth, you’re trilling your r’s,
the white sky heavy w/ the promise of rain,
the edition of sir gawain & the green knight
I gave you nearly floating in your fingers.
the sounds carry just above the rustling of trees.
your own awe leaves me floored,
so full of blousy feeling for you.
summer solstice. every year it gets
me, the intimidation of an afternoon
so neverending, but lying in this grove
I finally know the pull of such still slowness.
here we’re swallowed up in calm.
here’s a hand to lay on your open palm today.
Emily Murman is a poet & educator from Chicago. She holds an MFA in poetry from National University. She is the author of two chapbooks, "SHRIVEL AND BLOOM" (Dancing Girl Press, June 2021), and "I want your emergency" (Selcouth Station Press, July 2021). She can be found on Twitter @emilymurman.