Antipodes

for Patrick

When the world is upside
down around me, I sense
you there on the opposite
side of the sideless globe,
a pinpoint of precisely calibrated
connection, on which the entire
planet is balanced, spinning around
a single plumbline of gravity
connecting your feet to mine,
leaving us rightside up together.

The Best Worst Poem

A green cow went Moo—
and Trampled me.
-M.A., 7th grade

Do you really think this poem
—all two lines of it—
is in the style of Emily Dickinson,
per the assignment?

Let’s compare it to our notes.

Emily is fascinated
by the mysteries of nature
—why is that cow green?—
not to mention Death. Check.

Dashes and Capitals—yes and Yes.

A surprisingly elegant
slant rhyme of Moo
and Me, leaning into
absent consonants.

Short and untitled—those are gimmes.

And to top it all off—
the drama! Action!
Mystery (again with the green?)!
Even dialogue!

Could this be, perhaps… a masterpiece?

Life, the Universe, and Everything

When I am 42
then I myself
will be the answer.

But am I the answer
to a question already asked,
or a question yet to come?

And will I be ready
to ask the next question,
and become the next answer?

The Scotch Tape and the Snail

A nearsighted snail exclaimed to his friend,
“You’ll never believe who I’ve seen!
The gem of the garden from here to lawn’s end—
in my eyes she’s truly a queen!

“Her trail of slime has a marvelous shine,
its stickiness has me enthralled!
And her accent’s adorable—Scottish, I think,
though I can’t understand her at all.”

“Do you think this is wise?” the other replied,
with antennae at skeptical tilt.
“I shouldn’t disparage cross-cultural marriage,
but I think you’d look odd in a kilt.”

“Oh, you wouldn’t so frown, could you hear my heart pound
like a passionate, snail-paced drum!
For her I would crawl through the salt flats of Utah—
But quiet now! Look—here she comes!”

Several minutes later… the Envoi:

“Ach! Dinnae ye fash yersel’, bonnie wee snail,
yer een havnae led ye astray,
fer we’ll doon tae the kirk an’ be marrit at once,
an’ I’ll stick tae ye all o’ me days.”

[The branches that are Cut away]

after Emily Dickinson

The branches that are Cut away –
May seem a heavy Loss –
And roots that – unbelieving – seek –
May chafe within the Pot –

The tree may scorn – to be a shrub –
Nearer Ground than Sky –
May grow only – longing for –
A false Immensity –

The Gardener – He knows –
And shows us through our Scars –
However small this Life may be –
Yet still it may be – Art –

Inheritance

“How many things in your home
are older than you are?” my class asked
when I signed on to Zoom today.
I found four.

From a grandfather,
a “grandson clock,” lovingly restored.
From the opposite set of grandparents,
an antique illuminated music manuscript.

From a great-grandfather,
a banjo-guitar, heavy with suppressed volume.
From an equally great-grandfather,
The Pilgrim Hymnal, “copy for the pastor’s study.”

A ringing chime, a melodic line,
a powerful strum, and a choir become
the family thread that never dies
as generations harmonize.

Do I Have To?

for T.S.

Do I have to do the assignment?
Do I have to do all of the assignment?
Do I have to show an interest in something outside of myself?
Do I have to put out actual effort for my own benefit?
Do I have to develop my inherent talent by improving my skills?
Do I have to expand my awareness and appreciation of the world around me?
Do I have to transcend my self-imposed limitations?
Do I have to achieve true ownership of my body, mind and will?
Do I have to have complete freedom to act for the best in every situation?
Do I have to attain everything my heart truly desires?
Do I have to be a blessing to everyone and everything around me?
Do I have to realize my full potential as a human being in this world?
Do I have to fulfill my ultimate destiny as a soul?
Do I have to?