apostasy among the tallgrass

and in the fields where the forget-me-nots
climb sideways, pious and succinct
with bees hanging like earbobs from their blue heads,
the minister composes a sermon and the cicadas
and scrub-legged locusts murmur blasphemies –
apostasy among the tallgrass.

the sun slides along the sky like a gastropod – on it's stomach –
and the houseboat snails ferry across the porchsteps
as mother kneads bread in the kitchen, which expands like the holy spirit.
she tells me that the yeast is alive – a thousand tiny grains
dehydrated creatures, which cluster like the white
membranous conclaves of ant eggs I find under the stepping stones.

the self-important clouds decay at a half-life
the brush of the wind gentle and loveless
and the men standing in the doors of the church as father
talks parables and scripture – he has not had a baptism in seven months.
it has been a dry season.

we hide under the eaves, in the shade after church,
like numbers huddled under a division sign
and father locks himself in his study to read the bible and to pray
as he always has these past seven months, praying for a baptism.
the trees stand waterless and black in the sun,
their leaves curling like lips in disgust
pageantry of the field, choir of the tallgrass

the dry mountain oversee us
like barons

and father's prayers evaporate from his lips.

Reviews

[Emily B]

Let me just begin by saying, that I stopped reading after the first stanza to put this in my favorites. That's not something I've ever done before.

This is amazing work. It ambles along on long legs with a hundred quiet truths. So many phrases that struck me as brilliant, it's enough to make one a little jealous. If one were inclined that way. Amazing work.

[Ed Hart]

you restore my faith in the brilliance of strangers...isn't it wonderful that the muses are still working miracles...

[Ken Simm.]

Sublime, just simply sublime. This deserves and will get the highest praise. There is nothing to improve, nothing to criticise, nothing to say but that this is the nearest I've seen to perfection for a long time.

[W.k.kortas]

The apostasy is visible right away, as the "pious and succinct" forget-me-nots climb not heavenward, but sideways. The imagery is vivid and inventive--the bees are earbobs, the sun a "gastropod", churchgoers "numbers huddled under a division sign". The final, single-line stanza is a nice device. This is well-built, intelligent writing of the first order.