therapy

clumps of grass spring up
shockingly green and dense
at the dog park these days,
islands in a dusty stream,
little anachronisms of growth.
the father-figure delicate
on splayed lawnchair legs
watches hounds and terriers
gambol across the field
of hard-packed, chain-linked
dirt, raising great cloudy
pillars of fine oklahoma dust
with an eager affection
never shown to him by children.
he is in the wilderness now,
wanting some guide by day
and perhaps finding it here,
perhaps not. he isn’t sure.
his own children feared him,
and he would never throw
a ball for one of them.
(although at least he didn’t
hit them. they never wanted
for food or shoes or a roof.)
he likes animals’ oblivion,
their stark speech of presence
and present mood, of scent,
of motion and resting.
these elemental signs
appeal to his small soul,
resting there like manna
that clung to clumps of grass
every morning but one.

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4 thoughts on “therapy

  1. That’s pretty intense. I think your title works really well with the phrasing and pace of the poem. The isolated experience serving as key to a larger picture is pretty cool method of displaying the emotional power contained in a glance, no doubt. At any rate, quite enjoyable.

  2. glad you enjoyed, cf! i’ve been writing on the run recently, and sometimes it takes awhile for me to get what’s in my head down on paper. by the time i do, it’s often unwieldy and obtuse. so it’s nice to hear your thoughts.

    AND since i’ve been writing on the run, i’ve been reading other people’s stuff practically never. i’ll have to spend some time with your blog this weekend and catch up on what you’ve been writing. thanks for stopping by.

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