In Praise of Moving On by Anya Kirshbaum

In Praise of Moving On

Go ahead, sit in the field and weep, then
be done. Stop wearing your grief like a thorny garland

in your hair. Pinecones? Make a crown of something else.
Starlings in mid-flight, say, or rippled drip-drop

of honey-comb. Or, for God’s sake, seaweed—even the briny
sea-rose would be more palatable than this. I know

there was something unforgettable in their kiss.
But honey, all the color has drained from your lips. Remember

mouthfuls of spicy nasturtiums? Or borage nestled like sleeping
stars in your palm? Remember playing harmonica

in your marigold-orange dress? Or the serpentine slither
of garden snakes thrilling your toes? How when one pissed

you wore that stench like a badge-of-untamable-things?
Remember grandmother, standing in a doorway bellowing

her accordion, moonshine in her stone-grey hair?
Or how about the wild onions? In particular, the black earth

where they grew? You need the black earth. Throw
your spiny crown to the ghost of misbegotten lovers. Bury it—

garland of tiresome brackish moans. Let pinecones
be pinecones. I know the apple tree is long gone. I know the wild

onions have all but vanished & the animal graveyard
has lost its markers. Go anyway, kneel down. Find the buried

sea-glass & the salamanders, find the earthworms winnowing
their love song. Find the impatiens you planted in secret

& the squirrel’s soul you buried in a coke bottle. You: archeologist
of small intricate bones—leaf-swung; heart-shorn. You: music

maker of twine & sorrow & backyard stones. Valiant, tender
girl—there is another kingdom. Sometimes the best answer is No.

*

Anya Kirshbaum (she/her) is a queer poet and therapist living in Seattle, Washington. Her work has appeared in Whale Road Review, Sweet Lit, Crannóg, Solstice Literary Magazine, and elsewhere. She was a finalist for the New Millennium Writing Awards and the Patricia Dobler Poetry Award, was nominated for a 2024 Forward Prize and was the recipient of the 2023 Banyan Poetry Prize.