The Wild Iris in  General  General   

At the end of my suffering
there was a door.

Hear me out: that which you call death
I remember.

Overhead, noises, branches of the pine shifting.
Then nothing. The weak sun
flickered over the dry surface.

It is terrible to survive
as consciousness
buried in the dark earth.

Then it was over: that which you fear, being
a soul and unable
to speak, ending abruptly, the stiff earth
bending a little. And what I took to be
birds darting in low shrubs.

You who do not remember
passage from the other world
I tell you I could speak again: whatever
returns from oblivion returns
to find a voice:

from the center of my life came
a great fountain, deep blue
shadows on azure seawater.

By Louise Gluck

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Other poems by Louise Gluck:

• A Fantasy
• All Hallows
• April
• Cana
• Castile
• Celestial Music
• Confession
• Early Darkness
• Elms
• First Memory
• Horse
• Labor Day
• Love Poem
• Lullaby
• Matins
• Midnight
• Nostos
• Parable Of The Dove
• Parousia
• Poem
• Portrait
• Retreating Wind
• Saints
• Siren
• Snow
• Snowdrops
• Summer
• The Butterfly
• The Fear Of Burial
• The Garden
• The Gold Lily
• The Pond
• The Red Poppy
• The Silver Lily
• The Triumph Of Achilles
• The Untrustworthy Speaker
• The White Lilies
• The Wild Iris
• The Wish
• Vespers
• Widows