Tag Archives: Death

A BEAVER TALE

A BEAVER TALE

The ranch hands found him
half grown and half starved
wandering through the hills
five miles from any real water

Rolled him up in a leather jacket
threw him in the back of the jeep
brought him home and set him loose
in that big slough north of the barn

And what an architect he turned out to be
building his house with cedar post beams
and mud and straw and sticks for walls
larger and homier than a sodbuster’s cabin

An aquatics engineer as well
every inch of his domain cobwebbed
with small rivulets to larger streams
to little rivers all running to his castle

Spill a cup of coffee anywhere in twenty acres
and he could sip it in his home

Mighty impressive and a good neighbor too
until the dry years came

At the edge of the slough was a dugout
where the cattle watered spring and fall
and mostly in winter when we chopped
a hole through thick ice and the cattle’s
weight pushed water to the surface

The beaver needed water too
and he knew what to do
dig a hole through the soft dirt bank
and steal his water from our tank

I watched the surface a long patient time
to see the Vee of his swimming
to shining brown of his head
and fill it with lead

My brother held him up, large as a small man

Life on the ranch is very simple, as was I
what interferes with living has to die
as a city boy might swat a fly

Had they gotten to me then
I could have gone to war

BURYING MOTHER

BURYING MOTHER

All that time in the womb
mother and baby exchanging cells
mother to baby and baby to mother
from one to the other and back again

One becoming two becoming one
becoming two and the two always one

It is not the same with the father
invited pleasure or invading pain
there for a moment and gone again

When you bury your mother
the worms eat you too

THE HUNTING BLIND

THE HUNTING BLIND

Seems like a strange name

Isn’t it the prey
that we’re wanting to be blind

The deer in grace and beauty
unable to detect
behind the brown green screen

The man with his guns
and a paper in his hand
given to him by another man

Brown eyes soft in gratitude she bows
to the gift of scattered corn

Maybe it is a good name after all

Maybe it really is the hunter who can’t see

AFTER THE DEATH

AFTER THE DEATH
(for Orli and Gideon)

These are the days of the rats in the cages

The burrowing into sawdust corners
the gnawing on bars
and the running on wheels
mostly the running on wheels

Even at night, specially at night
while God in his lab coat naps in the corner

and you know with perfect logic and insanity

If you could just do it fast enough
if you could just do it right enough

Like the wheels of old watches
all the cogs would fit the way they used to
when the good ones all had jewels
sleeping safe in their dark cases

And each morning you had to wind them up
if you wanted hours in your day

And you know, wish, know, wish, know,
that there is another way that this must go

And if you could just get the woulda, coulda
shoulda, coulda, woulda, shoulda; would,
coulda, shoulda, woulda, wheels
to mesh their gears just right

You could turn it all back

BODY COUNT

BODY COUNT

The trouble is
you can only count the bodies that count

Afghani and Iraqi soldiers and citizens
have already paid ten times 911
but it doesn’t seem to help

If it’s only American lives that count
then it’s only American deaths that count

So if one dead hero cancels one dead victim
let’s give some thanks this Thanksgiving
we’re more than half way there

BLOOD

BLOOD

The drums of war are beating again
and all the brave young boys
are leaving their mothers
to go off and be men

And they all will be changed
for the better or worse
and many a blessing
lies under a curse

And if they come back at all
when they come back from war
they’ll have friends oh my friends
like they’ve not had before

Yes the friends they make here
midst the death and the fear
are friends that grow dear
and yet dearer each year

For a new family is formed
in the sand and the mud
where each man learns
blood is thicker
than blood