i
what moved upon a child. this ground
and my ground . . that we did not know;
that was near to all and one could
not approach
relationship to elders, the young
selfish as cats, animal self-centered. the old
who loved us that we did not love—
from expectations, insufficient . . to feel
our existence held their need;
we did not!
one could not settle for—what was (to us)
their wholeness, the spreading outward
desperate suffering
or joy . . . an animal need filled. each
went like empty vessels, before us
digging a grave with shovels
men came
(seven feet in) to the figure of a man;
white sediment lay
soft as bone-chalk
a calcium deposit—
not disturbing his shape, dust
of the body kept whole
they lifted their tools. the box
went down smoothly upon the surface
ii
‘old man with four gardens’
my cousin
pushes a tiller with rotating cutters
through the soft pliant earth; he sits
with young pea sprouts, throwing
fire crackers at birds
where once the mammoth fields lay
encroaching upon us as woods;
his eyes
are slits of light—his hair
white as
long rows once broken with mules were,
a September spread of bursting
stalk and bowl, cotton. from his narrowed
eyes, he looks at the sun
‘i remember’ his soft face says;
the generations
move with his hands as he touches
the hard worn handles
landside of an ancient plow