Bodoc, Saturday, August 18, 2001

A storm is coming, its eyelid heavy with lightning and hail.
I have mowed, trimmed, showered, and
Now I sit at the dining room table, writing.

I love to write here.
In this place, on this spot of ground,
In this house of 1947, whose very pitch
Tells me of my parents’ inclinations, and
Teaches me to question all planning.

Here, in dim light, I dealt with sacred texts:
The Building of America, Bible History,
Literature I, and Literature II. And
In those splendid texts: words,
Which I have begun only recently to appreciate.
Words such as: "Climb," "Accept," "Receive," and "Turn."

I have begun, like a squirrel
To store up the meanings of words
In a special chamber of my mind,
Against the time when the attendant, a youth
Well meaning and trained,
But expecting no coherent answer,
Will say: "Mr. Bolner, how we feeling today?"

 

____
Bodoc
August 18, 2001