Easter Poem
The Black GardenThe old man remained silent
For fourteen years.
He had been so
Since the day he looked down
Into the brambled stone garden...
His own heart
Wherein he beat his
Titanium tongue
Into a plowshare
For digging.
Knelling down in the black earth
He cleared the runners
Which made small punctures
And stung with mild poisons
Sifting for the cold sharp stones
As the water bled
Through his trousers
Making his knees like wounds.
You could hear the stones clack
And scrape with the bits of broken blue glass
As he pulled them from the soil.
Still he saved every one
Pouring them round
The outskirts of the
Black Garden.
The old man dug deep
When he could not dig wide
Keeping each of the stones in sight
To remind him of the hardness and it's labor
(They also reminded him
Of the runner and the thorn).
The Lost Ones
Walked by the Black Garden
Seeing no crop they laughed
“You stupid bastard
We shall steal these stones
Or throw them at you!”
Which they did.
The old man knelt in the black peat
Lowering his soul to God in prayer...
But nothing grew
And he became hungry,
Then starving,
Then dying,
Until his plowshare
Tunked down
Like a whim of dust on a
Passing shadow.
Then came the water
And the blood
The returning to earth
Falling slowly into the ground
Draining into the peat
Running deep
(finding neither rock nor bramble)
Settling silently into the Black Garden.
Silence.
Silence.
Poems burst from the Garden
As the new man rose up
Calling the corn stalks to himself
By name
Praising up the tomatoes and the dill!
Then the new man heard the voice
Of One who calls
Like a brother
“Come let us drink soup like children!”
Which they did.
Letting the herbs dribble down their chins
Warming their breasts
With the laughter of infants.
_______
~Mac
posted by Obi-Mac BakDon @ 10:59 AM
Comments: 0
