OCCUPANTThe sad mailbox of my extreme youth, what did it ever deliver? The only...
A CRITICPick up your socks. Clean the house once in a while. Go to the dentist. ...
HISTORIANPiles and piles of books, boxes of documents, photographs, bones, shreds of clothes...
YOU WHO KNOWI was just enough bigger that I could wrestle you into the clean straw of the mow...
GRIFFY LAKEI spread my smooth water like a lap and caught the trees' faces where they fell...
Dear Eric,
Dusty Clinton Township kids making paper roosters and snowballs,
showing each other the moves of chess . . . I had a two-year jump
on you in everything. Much later, after I was filled with the Spirit
and began to testify, we had less to teach each other. I was
swallowed up in marvels and taken on the edge of glory.
I think of us that time we went out in your father's car . . .
raising high trails of dust; we battered the back roads, arguing
miracles of the Holy Ghost. You would not learn from my quick belief.
O, Eric, I had a high, pure falling when the Spirit left me and
I felt mortally fooled. What to do now that two years running
after God was dust and ashes? Waiting for a revelation, I
studied rope--smiling, remembering (years and years ago)
our hands racing towards some slender knot . . . sheepshank,
halfhitches, hangman's noose. I thought how a taut line points
towards God.
Danny