Thursday, 19 July 2007

• Ode

  This is something I scribbled on the back of a receipt while I was waiting for my friend at Applebee's.  I thought I'd share it so at the very least, I can remember it.  <edit> this poem has a title, which tends to be a rarity* for me, unless it is something like "untitled" or my favorite, "unfinished."  But this one is called...

  Emmaus

  whenever the wind rustles the tree leaves
  on a mild summer day
  I am reminded of you,
  our meeting on a day
  so far from the mild summer kind--
  cold, and a little bit cloudy,
  dusk approaching (or perhaps already there) and fall leaves
  crunching madly beneath my feet--
  
  (here the receipt is turned over)
  but your voice is the same, and
  this wind--this still smallness of your voice--
  the same.  And so I think of you.
  I think of wind, and the Spirit,
  and the thrilling heart of that quiet
  Nicodemus, questions like torrents
  bursting out of a dam destroyed by
  love, joy, peace, gentleness, goodness,
  you.  And so I think of you.  
  
  (and on another section)
  I think of grapes and figs,
  pomegranate leaves and apple trees,
  vineyards laden and
  workers laboring with their toil
  glistening on their foreheads, their
  hands moving in faith to a voice
  not so far away calling well done,
  well done...  and so I think of you.
  
  (and then just for fun)
  I think of Elijah and the brook,
  ravens coming, and angels prodding,
  Elijah, wake up,
  I think of fire and flame
  the seven thousand who have not
  and you, that still small voice
  and so I think of you.
  
  ----

  *another rarity: this poem begs to be understood.
  

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