Poem: Gypsy Wagons

IMG_0456 RT

Gypsy Wagons

The red farm wagon sits at the edge of the field,
looking less as a utensil than a gypsy wagon,
And, not for the last time, your mind wanders.

You tire of responsibility.
This last round of brokeness has left you with wanderlust,
a desire to shed responsibility like a snakes skin in summer

and wander off new and glistening,
to put aside your Lord’s command and wander,
to be without concern.

Let them fend for themselves! Let them….
But you cannot. You wounds remind you
of the power of love with arms and legs.

Work, no matter how prosaic, serves others,
and you have been well served by lovers and children,
parishioners and strangers have not let you fall.

and so your gypsy travels will have to be a dream for now,
temporary,, a day or two at most.
A week at the shore perhaps but yet.

For now, your job is to heal. To stand straight
when your body pulls at its stitches, doing its best
to curve you into yourself like an old man.

To walk when you want to sleep.
to talk when you prefer a fetal ball.
You want nothing of it, But it is your job.

Not so you can run when the body comes to resemble itself again,
but so you can return to the calling. The responsibility.
The thing that, though it tires you, were made to be.

I will not lie. I have prayed to be remade,
preferably as a beach bum, with no concern
for where my edges touch. God apparently, laughs at me,

liking me well enough as I am, broken parts and all.
He has need, it seems for brokenness as well as perfection,
and I fit that bill well enough,

You drive in the morning, bent over your steering wheel.
You travel to your favorite diner, to do the one thing
you can still do in this time of healing: write.

The fields change each day, The corn yellows.
the hemp has begun to be harvested.
And in the morning, the gypsy wagon is gone,

About this poem

Since I began writing again, I have been writing the way I move. slower, with longer, more meandering phrases and thoughts. No reason why. Like so many things in my life, no reason to know why. You just go with it,

The picture was taken in nearby Pawlet, VT.

Tom

 

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