Yes

by Robert Vivian

Jason Yuen

Yes, I dive deeply into words and yes, they somehow hold me even as they are passing away, and yes to the window and the doorknob, yes to all the humble implements, pan and dish and saucer, coffee pot and teaspoon of honey — and yes to the beating of my heart and every heart, yes to the vibrant roundness of every living creature and the fragrance of lilacs blossoming here in early June, Yes, I say, and yes again to the spider on a north facing wall and yes to the woods beyond and yes to the very word north, most evocative and mysterious direction on any compass, yes to the harshness of winter and brief glory of summer and every rising fish, yes to a bed of pine needles in the forest and yes to the many peelings of bark that become these utterances — yes to a piece of paper and yes to this very pen jotting these words and other words like I love you, like We are out of eggs, like I have this intense feeling that everything is brief and unspeakably precious, like The green buds are reaching out to touch my breath, my tongue, They want me to grow with them — and yes even to loneliness and to dying, yes to the last time you say goodbye, yes to the first two people on earth who ever held hands and yes to the touch of another, whoever he or she may be, yes to the long kiss and short peck on the cheek and yes to the period at the end of every sentence, yes to its simple and dignified mark of conclusion and finis, yes to the last page written in this book of flesh turned on its back once more in an open field to gaze up at the night sky of stars wheeling in the wake of so much dark silence.

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Robert Vivian is the author of The Tall Grass Trilogy, Water And Abandon and two meditative essay collections, Cold Snap As Yearning and The Least Cricket Of Evening. His first poetry book is called Mystery My Country — and he’s co-written a second called Traversings with the poet Richard Jackson. He teaches at Alma College and as a core faculty member at The Vermont College Of Fine Arts.