The poem “What We Must Do” from the reading on 05/04/14.
We found remains
not of the day or night
not of the moon or sun
but of something more
primal and of the earth
and soil carrying its voice
from pastures to fields
to the winter beds.
The remains we found of
creatures roaming
the open space
the land born of themselves.
Searching snow covered grounds
a rake is used like a ship
dredging a canal, but
at the surface, gentle
tugs, attention paid to
the amount of resistance,
the emitted sound when metal
hits a rock, dried wood,
or what I am looking for.
When a brownish blur
catches my eye through cattails
I know I am done.
It’s time to return
you to earth.
2x4s laid in the snow
covered dirt road, away
from low hanging pine limbs
and prairie grasses.
I place your rib cage upon
the altar, sprinkle gasoline
and say a few words
before throwing the match.
