By John Blair
A youngest brother turns seventeen with a click as good as a roar,
finds the door and is gone.
You listen for that small sound, hear a memory.
The air-raid sirens howled of summer tornadoes, the sound
thrown back against the scattered thumbs
of grain silos and the open Oklahoma plains
like the warning wail of insects.
Repudiation is fast like a whirlwind.
Only children don't know that all you live is leaving.
Yes, the first knowledge that counts is that everything stops.
Even in the bible-belt, second comings are promises
you never really believed;
so you turn and walk into the embrace of the world
as you would to a woman, an arrant
an orphic movement as shocking as the subtle
animal pulse of a flower opening, palm up.
We are all so helpless.
I can look at my wife's full form now
and hope for children,
picture her figured by the weight of babies.
Only, it's still so much like trying to find something
once lost. My brother felt the fullness of his years, the pull
in the gut that's almost sickness. His white
smooth face is gone into living and fierce illusion,
a journey dissolute and as immutable
as the whining heat of summer.
Soon enough, too soon, momentum just isn't enough.
Our tragedy is to live in a world
that doesn't invite us back.
We slow, find ourselves sitting in a room that shifts so slightly
we can only imagine the difference.
I want to tell him to listen.
I want to tell him what it is to crave darkness,
to want to crawl headfirst into a dirt-warm womb
to sleep, to wait seventeen years,
to emerge again.
I posted this poem six months ago but it seems so relevant that it must be repeated, I think. There's a wonderful op-ed piece on the cicadas in The New York Times, "The Orgy in Your Backyard": "They overwhelm the cornerstone of rationality: our ability to quantify nature. Could engineers equip us with several million (never mind a few trillion) alarm clocks that would reliably ring 6,209 days from now? We would do well, I believe, to begin to think of periodical cicadas as moving, living national parks. Rather than a few million of us visiting Yosemite or Yellowstone this summer, a few trillion cicadas will come to visit us. They will remind us that the world is yet to be tamed and that wonder is our birthright."
People doing musesfool's Psalms challenge: Grace For Today has C.H. Spurgeon's Treasury of David, with lengthy commentary on all the psalms. It's conservative and Christian but can also be quite helpful if you're stumbling over given words or line readings.
Am off to see gblvr. And have tons to do this afternoon. Aigh! Hope you are feeling better, beeej!