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What Kind of Poems Do you Write?

 

Lily asked.

 

and Jesse said…

 

I used to write silly poems,

like Shel Silverstein

 

and we’d read if we wanted to

 

and I would read my poems

as they made everyone laugh.

 

i remember watching Jesse do their homework, writing these hilarious, sarcastic, literal, sometimes aptly absurdest responses to the questions.

and I remember watching Jesse erasing their creative genius to write in the ‘right’ answers that they knew the teacher wanted.

this upset me a lot more than Jesse.

 

 

generally I don’t really trust man made things the way I trust trees.

 

when I look at trees I see myself climbing them.

 

“oh, that would be a fun way of climbing it.”

 

if you say tree, I’ll think climbing.

 

if you say ferris wheel, I’ll think ferris wheel.

 

i just sat at the base of the long reaching branch of the old wolf oak. thinking about beauty, and truth, and nothing. i didn’t really listen to Jesse and Lily’s conversation. i listened to another conversation, a conversation that their voices happened to catch a couple shadows of.

occasionally, beneath Lily’s questions, and Jesse’s answers, i could hear those big quiet questions and those big quiet answers. Those denizens of a seekers search for meaning.

those questions and answers that lead to, well, everything and/or nothing, and/but always an affirmation of faith in the Mystery.

you know that big quiet conversation?

the one you only know through feeling. the one where connections, experiences, relationships, lifetimes – flow into another. and every other.

 

as if,

 

as if,

 

as if,

 

the questions and the answers,

 

already,

 

 

oh.

 

 

and, after a time,

 

Jesse said…


up in the tree, I didn’t even know it was raining.

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