My father died and
I went down to pick his figs
Thinking to make a simple jam sweet
enough to absorb grief
Inside the humming tree – mid August
and hot enough to make snakes mad
I held a dancing
communion with yellow-jackets,
red wasps, midge flies,
bumble-bees, hornets, cow-killers;
working around the tree with
nimble, trembling fingers.
Did you know the great Bodhi tree was a fig?
That fig-milk heals warts?
That one can pray inside a father’s ancient
vibratory anger and
not be stung?

4 thoughts on “August

  1. Good to hear your sad voice Gary. I drove past Box Turtle a few weeks ago to see Mary Earls and once I passed the road sign I thought that must be where Gary lives! You may be happy to know Doug and I just celebrated our 39th anniversary- we met the night he and Vic delivered firewood to your potluck supper. After unloading the wood, Doug drove us all to the State Fair~and I rode the Ferris wheel for my onliest time ever. Be well!


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