November 2023 – Aremyfeetofftheground

Observance

One
believes that a seed is fully birthed and aware,
after its fall to the grass;
has noticed the spontaneity of a trunkless tree
with its seven arterial arms;
has looked away quickly
from those in their guarded moments,
indelible though these memories will be.

Knowing

We have met old men on the sidewalks.

One lay prone, half on the grass, and, reaching up, said “Thank you for my coat. Thank you for my shoes, and for the air- my food.”

Behind us, one day, we heard a scraping and a shuffling, and we turned to see this one man who was dragging a sizeable branch. We, perplexed, said a pleasantry, but he said only “I am going home.”

A third sat propped against a young oak and smoked something that was flaming. Its fume was fragrant, and he smiled and wrinkled his nose.

And this old man feels a dwindling in his heart, a barrel in his chest, and walks on tin man joints. The brain and courage dwindle too, but the smile is knowing.

~Brother~

Expecting a rude tin can— “Here, this is what you can afford”, I opened the entrusted six-by-six box with my car keys (here, this is how prepared you were). Inside- his ashes, of course, but in a dark red bag of the thickest velvet I had ever felt, drawstrung and tasseled in gold. His remains (bone-beige, of course) were like so many grains of rice, though I thought of them as seeds. Tomorrow, I will be down by the riverside for the casting and the crudest of blessings, with a hardy shrub for the planting, and with tears, I expect, still unshed.