Saturday, September 10, 2011

is this how my love grows?

tears hover
over sod lying dry
limp and brittle
in long rigid fingers
forearms of sweat

moist eyes
too little to
bring this clump of
back to life

sod cutter’s mark
shows how it is so easily
pulled away
from the ground on which it was

and how a grandfather’s hand whose
hubris and old
made him think it would be there

muddy cheek streaks
I will not wipe them
with stained hands

that only smear the
from its graceful trail
down my face

like a sad irrigater with
broken main and a
futile attempt to
water a field
already sewn with salt


Carla Hagen said...

Clarence, this is gorgeous and very moving. I knew you wrote great prose; did not know you were a poet. Carla

Clarence said...

I didn't know, either. What is a poet? Blame Julia.