How empty Grandma's bench
when sitting like a man
knees apart
and arms spread crucified
But how warm her embrace
in wood aged with rain and solemn air
does lay across
and baby us sweetly.
Voices curl, coddle
against all odds
doubt
unfolds toward such slight
a buzz
streetlamps again graze
with warming touch
comfort
and soften bark, bathing for that second
moon's glow
embrace
rest now a worn and wrinkled bosom
perfumed tobacco
testing, unyielding
coyly it tastes on my tongue
licking those moist lips
mourning
neighbors sleep
except one sound
a door opening, shut
and rushes
hastily washing up to bed
with a wife--
like my mother--
snoring forgotten on her pillow plump
a dog whimpers wanting
rolling for "mother" as well
as any human boy.
How very awake we are
the Moon and I
with dew-- early morning yet
betwixt these my bare toes
which slide then run
through yards and yards of wet grass
for this is morning.
And this same Moon never will pass her
brilliant crux along the stars
her path is never to see the Sun
peeking beyond our shared horizon
but remains-- banished
and beautiful
in a way
excepting my sister's creaking step
as her own
plunged into every new thing
and in so, nothing-- not even illusion
as I watch the learned smoke
wryly let the wind
do all its work
and carry obligingly it
aloft-- blurring the streetlamp
alone.
How very awake.
How very, very awake.
Alive, thank God
at last
some peace before lighted
day breaks through
and curtains turn blue and grey
through my arms
my legs
my thighs, all aching for another routine
of good labor, strong
It will
run swiftly, sunlight,
reaching into this
our bony earth
groping deep the ground
to raise up another helpless seed
for tree-- Beech, emboldened
thinking, yea, believing
"now is it my turn
to shine face among the Great"
until the Course runs past
and a withered leaf
proves to be the last,
gently falling away
into savory autumn--
for saintly winter is do.
And I am still but a child.
Rumbling, the truck
a hearse from Dawn
alive just for now
but Now forever
until that same grand Equalizer comes
and claims me as his own.
Author notes
It is very early in the morning-- so forgive me if this is too rough a draft to read properly.
Comments
-
wow. i'm completely shocked that there aren't a million comments on this poem. surely you have erased them. this is an insiteful write. there is so much about it that i find compelling, but i think this is my favorite part:
"...gently falling away
into savory autumn--
for saintly winter is do.
And I am still but a child.
Rumbling, the truck
a hearse from Dawn
alive just for now
but Now forever..." - awesome. i enjoyed reading this. - NANGALEEMA

