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While the earth remains

September 24, 2015

While earth remains, seedtime and harvest-time, cold and heat,

Summer and winter, day and night shall not cease.

- Genesis 8:22 (God’s promise after the flood)

 

Let there always be taxol and chamomile,

abnormal pap smears and little shirts

with red snaps. Let there be trout with ginger

and green tea in the evening.

Let there be months with nothing 

but mac and cheese.

Let there be days when waking

is a heavy weight, a thickness

breathed in. Let there be weeks 

together like this, weeks of sourness,

then one clean dawn in frost, the lawn smoking. 

Let there be ticks in the saskatoons.

The one who picked saskatoons with me

one summer far from either of our lives

writes to say she cannot write or speak.

Let there be a lamp for her, 

lasting oil, a little salt. Blessings.

 

Equinox today, the fall is coming.

Juniper dusty blue with berry, sumac

blushing. The tattered cherry

blooms again, a few bright blossoms.

Is that hope or hopelessness? The fruit

will never set. The flocks grow restless.

On this day the year is hinged 

like a door. Let there always be

the gates of morning, the gates of evening.

Wheels. All creatures walking.

 

Let every thing take its right name:

Rice and paper, salt and beans. Let dust 

film everything. Oh Lord, what comes

between us? Dust and thirst,

a lack of patience. Shyness,

there’s skin at least, a secret

I don’t know I’m keeping. What name

does it have? Shame. Eden

 

While the earth remains let there be sparseness, 

winter with one hawk and no hiding.

Let there be Junes jam-packed, chock-a-bloc, thick

with berries. Let all the graves have names.

Let us pray indifferently, pray in fear

and whispers, let us pray and be blasted

open. Let there be garlic and chilli,

and cream for the coffee, the salty 

and sour, the sweet and the bitter, the desperate

and dappled, the morning

and evening, the over

and over, the first day.

 

 

 

from the book Seal up the Thunder

 

 

(One of my favorite poems of my own, for the first day of fall.  My poetry is published as Erin Noteboom.)  

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