Sunday, August 7, 2011

Moving


Far away a friend is moving
sends me a photo of a box of books

one of mine among them
looking up

a child waiting
to be fed

while outside even cucumbers
have names

August is the way
I explain it

and if I had a hat with a wide black brim
I would look like him†

old man aside a wagon wheel
dust that never settles

restless
as the spirit wind


my great-grandfather, Lars August



4 comments:

willfulresemblance said...

"and if I had a hat with a wide black brim
I would look like him†"

I keep coming back to that line = magnificent.

William Michaelian said...

A poem within a poem, a riddle, a statement, an epitaph. It means a lot to me, and so I’m glad it strikes you as it does. Thanks, Jhon.

erin said...

it means a very great deal to each of us and yet too many of us don't know it.

xo
erin

William Michaelian said...

Erin, one of my brother’s high school friends from our old hometown still returns there from time to time to see his mother. His statement about the place, after living away all his adult life, is, “The old landmarks are there, but no one knows what they mean.” Which is another way of saying no one knows what we or I mean. Because they most certainly have meaning to the people who live amongst them now. And that meaning is probably closer to ours than he thinks. The cares and triumphs that spawn them are the same.

I don’t know, but maybe these lines about the wide black brim is another of those landmarks.