Rebecca Doverspike

Unexpected Accompaniments

 
It’s cold enough to snow
which means somewhere it is
and in a place we can’t see, inside this very air.

Listen: even if you hold your cupped hand open
you can’t save one life by saving another. You can’t
save any lives. I know.

I am drawn to the small cactus uprooted
thrown to the dirt. I pick it up, its roots tangled.
I carry its small grey cat body.

It fits perfectly in my palm.
but then the questions begin: is it like a fish
out of water? Is my interference the opposite

of compassion? Can tenderness at times be merciless?
Also I am terrible with plants, but this one looks so vibrant
and my heart hurts. It is so cold my hands out of pocket are turning

purple. It too is purple at its center. Purple as my own heart.

Maybe I could be someone who is not terrible with plants.
Their extraordinary stillness, their unaccompanied hearts.

Rebecca Doverspike works as an Interfaith Chaplain in Boston, drawing from Zen Buddhist practice. She holds an MDiv from Harvard Divinity School, an MFA from West Virginia University, and BA from Beloit College. Her chapbook Every Present Thing a Ghost was published by Slapering Hol Press in 2019. Other works can be found in Peripheries, Midwest Review, The Dewdrop, Valley Voices, 5x5 Literary Magazine, Tupelo Quarterly, Diagram, Ruminate, and others. She loves hiking with her partner and dog.