The mountain it is snows me
That it's all mountain graces the town below
One comes down to it,
reaching for the grandpa thumb
Such a word in our tender throats,
Grandpa, graspable in our aging fingers,
but false cognate, nonetheless,
having nothing to do,
no roots to old ones,
big trees we call Grandfather.
8 March 2011
MOUNTAIN SHINE SUNDAY
The word follows me
like my good dog Sadie
My fingers remain uncalloused
The sliver festers on the wheel
Pahtoo in rear view mirror
Going to Mom in Selah
She eats all of her oatmeal
What a mountain it is
6-7 March 2011
DREAMING KAREN DREAMING
AT THE SEW EXPOSITION
Eye of wonder
Color, texture, stipple
Karen's fingers following, threading
6 March 2011
THE STORY OF MY MOTHER'S LIFE
Mom is in the snow
She is every small step exaggerated
Mom is the State of North Dakota closely monitored
She is the telephone I answer to
Mom is testimony and testimonial
She is the poem starting small and everyday
She is epic, confusing literary genre
Mom is form changing, a proof
4 March 2011
STOPPING AT THE RED LIGHT
THE SON TAKES HIS HANDS FROM THE WHEEL
AND PUTS THEM IN HIS VEST POCKETS
BEFORE TURNING AROUND
AND RETURNING TO RIVERVIEW MANOR
Wondering at his return,
the nurse looks up
as he holds his hands before her,
whispers into her ear,
3 March 2011
PRAYING OURSELVES OUT FROM UNDER WINTER SNOW
Our agitation, Grandfather, is going nowhere.
Grandfather, in Our Father-short world,
You have made us Grandfather rich.
Help us do our work with Our Mother
in her great perseverance and anger.
Her daily work exhausts her beyond her body's
ability to feed itself through bread alone.
The furnace comes on at night
and we are warmed and reminded
that we have slept and we are grateful.
Let Our Mother rest.
We are all grandsons and granddaughters
and sometimes we don't know what to do,
or what's under all that snow.
It is so hard to talk to Our Father.
Our Mother in her great perseverance perseveres.
She has given us Great Work in this world
but she is so tired tonight from cleaning His floors.
You make it so easy, Grandfather, for all of us.
You have given us Karen who listens
as it was promised to us in the Great Prayer.
Help Our Mother get out of here.
which she wants so badly, even laughing at herself,
walking floors with no exits or doors.
I'm so crabby I'm not going to get very far.
Our Father has left the coop
while our mothers have been given more than they need.
Be with our sons and daughters in Our Father poor world.
Be with our living anger attaching itself
to all that is electric and inert
in our futile attempts to be misled and mislead.
Allow us to put handles back on the doors and unlock the locks.
Let Our Mother walk out of her work.
She has worked every day of her life.
Let Our Mother be at rest.
1 March 2011