THIS TINY CROSS

 

THIS TINY CROSS

           for Megan


hanging from a spider web

on an old growth tree

while hiking Box Canyon

with your dad, my brother,

on Mt. Rainier,

years ago, surfaces this morning.

This cross is for Sunny crossing.

Sunny, who could bite, and did,

is with St. Francis. Your companion,

Sunny, this cross, and the 10,000 ways

animals live among us

showing us how to love.


Uncle Jim

5 August 2022

CONVERSATION ON GRATITUDE DESCENDING BURROUGHS MOUNTAIN

 

CONVERSATION ON GRATITUDE

DESCENDING BURROUGHS MOUNTAIN

WITH MY BROTHER AND SISTER


    --for Chuck and Vonnie


Oh, thank you, but not from me!

Gratitude comes from Chuck!

No, no, I got it from you.


That can’t be. It was given to me.

How could I not know that, Vonnie.

How would I know.


You send me gratefulness

every day in the mail. Take this trail.

Three siblings passing on the gift,


like the desert fathers

not knowing how to start a fight,

beginning with the brick.


Just say, The brick is mine.

OK, it’s mine. No, it’s mine.

OK, you take it.


Jim

22 September 2022

BELOVED IN THE KITCHEN

 

BELOVED IN THE KITCHEN


Greeting my wife

with a kiss this morning

as she comes into the room

she whispers,

Go hike a mountain


Jim Bodeen

1 September 2022

LONG MARRIAGE

 

LONG MARRIAGE


Sore left feet

Two of them

Two sore left feet

Two left feet sore

Two of them?

How is that possible?


One is Karen’s

One is mine


Jim Bodeen

1 September 2022

BERTHA BRINGS ME A ROCK

 












BERTHA BRINGS ME A ROCK


from Railroad Creek

at Holden Village, the old copper mine

turned retreat center where

she just returned from. She

was there with Israel, her husband--

It’s his birthday today!,--we’re out

on the patio eating pie and ice cream.


We spent ten years with them,

the abrecaminos, at Holden Village,

mining our hearts, cruzando fronteras,

but didn’t go this summer.

Bertha hands me this stone

saying, This mountain

has come down to you.

Afterwards, Israel, whispers

in my ear, as he sings,

Caminos de Michoacán.

Nobody can hear as we take

the one road out of Quiroga.


Jim Bodeen

22 August 2022

Mil gracias, Bertha y Israel!


NEARLY 8 AM ALREADY

 

NEARLY 8 AM ALREADY


and I sit with my empty yogurt cup

looking at the Rilke poem

from the Book of Hours,

Part One, the Monastic Life,

Karen’s name written

in the margins, talking

to myself as I read, She who

reconciles the ill-marked threads

of her life, and weaves them gratefully

into a single cloth--falling

into her blanket, her sewing

machine dream-humming

in my ear, it feels given to me,

these poems to God, come

first through the muse.


As I write opening lines

in the notebook, returning

to the poem, I find another

image of Karen, I say, Here,

here I am the partner

of her loneliness. I have searched

the essential tombs

of monologues, have discovered

nothing of her quiet soliloquies--

that dash following cloth,

like torn silk, plain inner lining,

shiver of extravagance

of the kimono.


--for Karen, midweek in August,

2022,


Jim





DUSTING FINGERPRINTS

 

DUSTING FINGERPRINTS


Sit without saying

Lit candles in summer sun

I hope you are well


Walking neighborhood sideways

From before old gospel songs


Jim Bodeen

23 July 2022