Poem for Today

THIS IS A LETTER 

By Rebecca Dunham 

This is a letter to the worm-threaded earth. 

This is a letter to November, its gray bowl of sky riven by black-branched trees. 

A letter to split-tomato skins, overripe apples, & a flock of fruit flies lifting 

      from the blueing clementines’ wood crate.

To the broken confetti of late fall leaves. 

This is a letter to rosemary. 

This is a letter to the floor’s sink & creak, the bedroom door’s torn hinge 

      moaning its good-night. 

This is to the unshaven cheek. 

To cedar, mothballs, camphor, & last winter’s unwashed wool. 

This is a letter to the rediscovered, 

to mulch, pine needles, the moon, frost, flats of pansies, the backyard, 

      hunger, night, the unseen. 

This is a letter to soil, thrumming as it waits to be turned. 

This is a letter to compost, eggshell’s bone-ash chips, fruit rinds curved like 

      fingernails, & stale chunks of bread. 

A letter to the intimate dark—mouth-warm & damp as a bed. 

This is a letter to the planet’s scavenging lips