He brought a gift to the housewarming – a poem.
At first, the sun blinded him and the poem he had written
made little sense in the glare. The words blurred, lost form,
like sad aged eyes. He heard whisperings,
made false starts and repetitions.
He looked for exit signs and for a moment
he imagined everyone before him taking turns
to read aloud his own work.
And if you could ask, why a poem?
He’d say for today is the poets’ inauguration
“Seems something artists ought to celebrate.
Today is for my cause a day of days.
And his be poetry’s old-fashioned praise…”(*1)
A whirlwind rode through the plain
Snatched away the piece of paper in his hands
And so he read his gift outright; this time the one he knew by heart
“The land was ours before we were the land’s.” (*2)
Like a tree you can’t possess or be possessed by
But it is yours nevertheless to keep or give away
Plant a forest and see what will become of it
A tree is a tree and his was the gift of a poem.
*1 from For John F. Kennedy His Inauguration, Robert Frost
*2 from The Gift Outright, Robert Frost
wednesdays 