Sample Poems by Kate Bernadette Benedict
The Sureties
Some things you can
still rely on.
The forsythia hedge again is its usual yellow,
the callery pear exhibits its annual white.
The vernal light is cast as it was cast last year—
Cimmerian then milky then bright.
Tulips accrue, woodpeckers adhere
to their nourishing trunks, a piccolo.
sounds in the park. Lovers have new grass to lie on.
Some things you can
still depend on.
I buried my mother today in the family plot.
Her ashes were housed inside a simple casket—
an easy-to-carry container with little heft,
light as an already plundered Easter basket
when only a couple of elegant eggs are left.
I’d been there before; I’d stood on the very spot.
I’m accustomed to the conditions that lives end on.
Untouched, untouching:
yet am I not caressed?
Not long ago I never would have guessed
how hotly burns the slowly dwindling flame.
I lodge inside Libido’s ample frame
of soft sensation and unhurried need.
Seized by chastity, by chastity freed,
to give myself to every worthy thing,
the daily agon and the daily wandering,
as now I tingle in the leaves and roots
where autumn ginkgoes drop their musky fruits.
How rousing, to rededicate your trust,
let youth go, and reconsecrate your lust!
Rapture’s steadfast, solitude is bliss.
Then why do I seek it still: a human kiss?
When I Am Old
When I am old, if
I still see,
I’ll power up my lectro-book,
enlarge the letters with a click
and read some backlit poetry.
Faithful words, familiar
lines
from paper books of years ago
will pass the time at Pointed Pines
or Haven Bay. The screen will glow
and incandescence
seize my face.
If eyes be clear and mind intact,
I’ll find solace in a bitter place;
I’ll find plenty in the midst of lack.
One man loved my
company,
no man loved my pilgrim soul:
though griefs may pierce my reverie,
if I can read, I’ll still be whole.
And if somehow I
happen on
these homely lines on that bright page,
I’ll nod in vast contentment then,
however crimped I am by age.