SEVEN POEMS ABOUT BELIEF

“IS HE STILL ALIVE?” “IS HE REAL?”

Skiing with my granddaughter
in a snow storm, I reach up
for my goggles. They’re gone.
I reach again. My helmet,

gone, too. “My helmet’s gone!

And my goggles!” You left it at the map,”
Deezus says over sandwiches.
“We were talking about Old Man’s Beard

hanging from trees.” “You lost your helmet,”
my wife said. “How does someone lose their helmet?”
Deezus said I left it at the map.
“But how does someone lose their helmet

on a ski slope?” my wife asks again,
while the child’s eyes search the woods
for a hidden face, green whiskers everywhere
in trees, campfire ready to keep us warm.

Jim Bodeen
30 January 2013

TOM TOM

In the old house, last night,
Mom and Dad in the same dream
for the first time. A video camera,
too. Mom would pick it up,
but kept putting it down.
They were happy. So frustrating
for me. I wanted it all on film.

The man with us, itinerant.

“Didn’t I bring you a drum
like this once before?” “If you did,
you must have dropped it off
at another house.” He had a box
of wood, too. My grandson
watched us all. Large maples

had been pruned. Inside the box
were animals—dog and wolf
walking out of their former selves,
retaining still some tree bark,
the box full of chips from his chain saw.
I wanted my grandson to know it all.
I wanted Mom and Dad to see.

Jim Bodeen
30 January 2013

  •

THE CROSS OF LIGHT

My daughter steps into the mothership.
My granddaughter puts her world into a drawing.
Because the telephone in my hand
takes the photograph
I am able to see the light that blinds me.

Jim Bodeen
30 January 2013

SEVEN POEMS ABOUT BELIEF

 •

In practice I believe
I believe in practicing

•

Practice believing
I believe in the practice
Believing, I practice

•

Creo en la practica

•

He believed it because he lived it.

Jim Bodeen
January, 2013

•

I BELIEVE

As a boy in a North Dakota living room playing a trombone.

As a man, at Christmas, listening to Elvis.

•

Jim Bodeen
27 January 2013