thanks for my fruit trees

Photo by my wife, Alex.
I was VERY dizzy, in the ER. 2018.

Solstice passed, and winter is like a broken water pipe. 

Nobody controls anything. Not really. 

If I believed in a god or two I might pray for an anchor 

to keep me from floating off into the sky. 

I do believe in the universe 

so I pray my thanks for the winter rain, this year 

it’s as strong as water gushing from a broken water pipe, 

and this is after three years of drought. 

I pray thanks for my fruit trees, 

come spring the buds will be as pretty as laughing squirrels. 

If I do get an anchor, that’s when I’ll let go 

and float off. 

james lee jobe

Focus, not on the rudenesses of others, not on what they've done or left undone, but on what you have and haven't done yourself.

The Dhammapada

John Lee Hooker, Hard Times

My only weapon was a broken sword.

The battle passed over me like a sickness. 

I found a broken sword, a saber, and ground it 

to a sharp point, but I didn’t fight for very long. 

The battle was moving fast, rather like a buffalo 

running across the prairie, quickly it was gone. 

Allie, my grandmother, was there and I defended her, 

even though she has been dead for forty years. 

That was how I knew I was in a dream. 

General Longstreet was there, but very old, 

and he was not able to fight, and for this he was ashamed. 

There is no shame in growing old, I told him, 

but he didn’t answer. James Longstreet just turned away 

and wept for the dead on both sides. 

james lee jobe

PHILIP LEVINE, 1928-2015, CE

Coming Close

Take this quiet woman, she has been
standing before a polishing wheel
for over three hours, and she lacks
twenty minutes before she can take
a lunch break. Is she a woman?
Consider the arms as they press
the long brass tube against the buffer,
they are striated along the triceps,
the three heads of which clearly show.
Consider the fine dusting of dark down
above the upper lip, and the beads
of sweat that run from under the red
kerchief across the brow and are wiped
away with a blackening wrist band
in one odd motion a child might make
to say No! No! You must come closer
to find out, you must hang your tie
and jacket in one of the lockers
in favor of a black smock, you must
be prepared to spend shift after shift
hauling off the metal trays of stock,
bowing first, knees bent for a purchase, 
then lifting with a gasp, the first word 
of tenderness between the two of you,
then you must bring new trays of dull
unpolished tubes. You must feed her,
as they say in the language of the place.
Make no mistake, the place has a language,
and if by some luck the power were cut,
the wheel slowed to a stop so that you
suddenly saw it was not a solid object
but so many separate bristles forming
in motion a perfect circle, she would turn
to you and say, "Why?" Not the old why
of why must I spend five nights a week?
Just, "Why?" Even if by some magic 
you knew, you wouldn't dare speak
for fear of her laughter, which now
you have anyway as she places the five
tapering fingers of her filthy hand
on the arm of your white shirt to mark
you for your own, now and forever.

Philip Levine

If you enjoy this blog, and I hope that you do, please consider making a donation through the BUY ME A COFFEE button below. Thanks!

jlj