Four Letters For Mr. StaffordA Poem by Perdition William Stafford... poet (1914-1993)...to have had one day to "talk reckless" with the man. Dear Mr. Stafford The image I held conveyed your kindness. what was written inside was also written into time and within the eyes. I have no questions to ask though the river runs deep with ice. I also come from a time when war settles its hunger with fear and the enemy I was told was a man, and the enemy I have met was a child, hungry and cold and told that I was the enemy as well. I cannot say I would have made your choices though your choices took courage and courage comes from so many tiny details: the father, mother, past, preacher, friends, town, lovers, the nation
as well. P.S. Where do the birds fly during war? Dear Mr. Stafford, Your time here conveyed a kindness, a wisdom that you've earned while demanding your right NOT to kill, but let’s not speak of what was earned as you knew this far too well. Let us speak of your students, your wife, children and friendships. Old Iron Man John, shrugging the morning in his "slithering" way, let us speak of preferring a free dinner for your wife, the free dinner at the price of a menu-placed poem that you penned for a clove of garlic..your favorite award and plaque. Dear Mr. Stafford, Oregon still sparkles in your ice. The young still get lost in the deep, terrible woods and the deer still must fall into the river . Their unborn alive in their cold and hardening bodies.. decisions still are made over war. A promise I will make for myself when the silence of cold days arrive: I will climb these old trees with the night, I will fold the mountains down to find my own curiosities, as I am also a prisoner to the page and I will share what I can from this life. Dear Mr. Stafford, It is too late for us to “speak reckless” , though you would have come all the same and you would have armed me with yin while you would have smiled deep in yang, giving me the questions to ask long after your departure. We would have talked of lessons that I too might possess one silent day, sharing a peace that comes with making mistakes. That comes with a willingness to hold out your hand and forgive and you would have carried your silence well while holding my thoughts, looking out over the distance of one day. Then, perhaps you would have told me of life. How it is a steep and high vista, and how I must climb it with the world, and how I must climb it alone, listening to hear that lonely true sentence , the sentence within the sea~ © 2018 PerditionReviews
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2 Reviews  Last Updated on November 27, 2018 |
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