[a response to e. e. cummings' poem, "somewhere i have never travelled""]

these fragile hands could not
have sparked the spring
that has begun
in your rose's petals
if the flower had not been budding
pushing at the walls that were
if the rose had not released the chill
the ice that suppressed your silent scream

sunlight cannot inspire
the synthesis of life
in a moss that seeks the shadows

and the arctic plains do not
make themselves green
though the light never
ceases to shine
in summer
upon their fields of flowers
that are not

Copyright © 2007 Matthew Stephen Valdés

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