Wednesday, January 11, 2012

Coming From e.e.

Stop wondering what it is all 'about'—like many strange and familiar things. Life included. Don't try to understand it. Let it try to understand you!

Edward Estlin Cummings

Asleep, this phrase teased his tongue --- timber tumble.
He awoke joyous, thinking some cedar-haired muse
riding all in green --- spotted him along the hunt.
And uttered this cry.

There were even hounds crouching low
in the garden. The moon's horn
dangled from the skyline's belt. What did it mean?
He shrugged, an echo, a whimsical sound.
Like the bell ,I thought, of an old
apothecary shop
selling bird feathers and slippery elm

This morning when he left for his writing class,
I read the paper. Strong winds had toppled trees
and power lines. Shutters were blown off hinges,
doors off frames, and stumps ached
like phantom limbs with the dank smell
of leaves. Timber tumble.

Shelter was left exposed
and the absence waiting
for someone to enter. Stranger who doesn't ask
but hands over his or her stone
and steps into the drama
of what is there --
listening, just listening.

The painting above is called "The Opera of Winds" by Margaret Macdonald."

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