Poetry

 

 

Jared Smith

Seen Once in 60 Years

We were on the mountain
the day the aspens opened.
Each of them acre upon acre.
Paper trunks of yesterday fringed,
opened and began to green
obscuring granite and mica,
unfolding the legs and wings,
fleshing out the skeletons,
in only one evening we were
transformed beyond understanding.

We were beyond green
and were the color of old stone
when it came upon us and grew
within behind our hoary bony faces
etched from ashes we had sewn.
Nothing holds and nothing held
but framework breathing sun.
It is just these littlest things now
that carry light across the universe
and make life of it. You know.

 

People Wander In and Out of My Understanding

People wander in and out of my understanding
I wear a black armband on the sleeve of my shirt
Things that move my world are unknown to me
Stocks of great companies change hands
while I am playing baseball in center field
Small children are planting rice paddies I am
Cold mano a mano my arms are cut off twice
before the tiger rises from its lair mouth open

Understanding I wear the sleeve of my shirt
unbuttoned on my armband understandings come
slowly tethered to the eyes of deer in streetlamps
some things come slow in muddy waters
some things peek up between the rushes silent

This goes nowhere you have read reed written
wears woven rafts down muddy waters baby
soft to be discovered on the shore all you need
is to talk across the years and generations that
separate us and the languages long lost to us

We become as one and then disappear into ourselves
without machinery technology exchange commodity
moving ourselves into the awareness of light and
darkness settling into our individual bones and eyes
seeing we become one spider web tangled in the stars
blood passing from husk to husk upon sere wings
seeing everything we do not need to feel I am
what you will become lady and you are open to me

In becoming aware more aware of the torn men/women
through my internet in a far off continent I am aware
less of the papers on my desk and the meat on my table
and your hands settling the covers of my life in New York
or the sworls of your fingerprints across night my DNA
not being the same as yours my knowledge becomes yours
wandering in and out of my understanding where
the eyes of great corporations see not my sleeve
wiped across the sweat of generations.

 

 

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