" Renewal"
How many months has it been since
we crossed the old moss bridge
to sit around the fire and speak of oranges
and persimmons, otters and clover fields,
sunsets on the city's shore and thunder
behind the basement stairs?
In those weeks, have we traveled all
the trails available, have we set
our feet upon barely visible runs
to be frightened by fawns as much
as they of us, or have we only taken
the safe, guarded way?
In those days, have we shouted down
the ocean, stood in the sky on snow
bound crags and roared down concrete
canyons until stray cats and pigeons hide
in parking garages, or watched butterflies
start hurricanes on the side porch?
Have we painted words in nature's lost
tones, carved verse from stone as hard
to touch as diamonds molded by dead gods,
or set lines in the sun to dry until we wove
them into ovens to bake our poems with fresh
dates and bumblebees?
And if we have?
If we truly created new visions or only
simple, easy confections in a toddler's
scrawl? Or remade the world
to suit our mood? Or sat and sipped
and scribbled for the delight of friends
who dropped in for tea?
And if we have?
The pleasure was in the doing,
in the discovery of new recipes,
the reacquaintance of old -
the laughter,
sighs,
surprises.
And if we have?
Though night seems to stay long
past its welcome, we are not done.
We've new words yet to shape,
pictures to paint of air and rain,
talk to sing and songs to mouth
though we do not know the tune.
Come, settle into a pillow
and throw off your shawl.
I will restock the fire,
refresh your cup,
and open the window
to allow moths and fireflies
to dance for us
as we draw smiles
in the dust on mantle, table
and floor until the echo
from God's last word
has died away.
© 2002 Gary Blankenship
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