Hands Washing Water by Chris Abani

When it comes to contemporary poetry, I’m pretty hard to please. So it was a pleasant surprise to find how much I enjoyed Hands Washing Water by Chris Abani.

The last poem in the book was one of my favorites. It’s dedicated to Percival Everett, author of the novel Erasure.

Unfinished Symphony

The light this morning is an aria.
I turn back to the stirring of coffee.
A way to ground this time
between the hush and the turning. Outside
a hummingbird is spreading rumors
among flowers. Even now.
Even after all the wounds have healed,
I scratch around a phantom scab, avoiding
what lies beneath. When I open the window,
rosemary and thyme spill in.
Later I will work loam in the herb garden,
crumbling the dirt, whispering dirges,
spicing the plants with sharpness. For now,
there is Percival’s painted fire
and the coffee. Sometimes
it is enough.