It’s been some time since the last poetry post. In the spirit of Ned sharing his excellent paintings, I thought I would share a recent poem of mine.
BURNING STUBBLE
There are many ways to become
unexceptional. A field
a field a field a road a field a field
on fire. And you in a car
sightseeing where once you lived,
someone’s idea of hell, but isn’t
everywhere someone’s idea of hell,
also as the earth is
the kingdom of God. So Jesus says
in books they banished from
the bible. Because if this were heaven,
would the men come to
march a line of fire through it, across
the fields where you are still
the child who stood those men bringing
the flames close so you could
see the mice running out of them?
Then your father watching
closed his hand on you and said
They won’t burn our house
down. In the morning, the house was
white with blown ash,
in a circle outside of which everything
was black, brought down
and still smoldering. You were untouched,
and it must have been then,
careful not to step beyond the unfired
earth, that you decided
you would live your life this way.
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