Sunday, November 30

©2008 RosebudPenfold

we must look from its top

I have taken to walking through this landscape with a mental map that demands completion; the blanks are the outline of what I still need to know. In order to see our connection to the rest of the world, we have to know what lies between, and then look further, beyond the horizon. If there is a hill in front of us, we must look from its top. All of these imperatives would be frightening if they came from outside; coming from within, the dictatorship of geography becomes a means of self-knowledge of not only who we are but where we belong.

-- Ron Matous "Among These Mountains" Parabola 18:2

Ron Matous

Friday, November 28

©2008 RosebudPenfold

Thanksgiving Table

At the head, my grandfather,
the sharp protrusions of his elbows
taking too much room; my brother
kicking the table leg, as if
a faster beat could speed up time;
my mother, wan-faced from her vigil
over pots; grandma muttering
rude asides under her breath;
and the space beside me
where my father
                             used to sit,
close to the kitchen door, so that he
could lean far back in his chair
to fit us in his camera's frame.
All of us, the plates, cups, cornbread,
turkey steeped in all its trimmings,
even the dog, held upright, squirming
had its place. All that he loved,
compressed. He held that camera
like a sleeping child;
it gained weight in his palm, became
a measure of what one man's life
can hold,
                and then let fall. The years
slide under us, but this day hangs
frozen: the table stacked with food,
our smiles opening
toward him like hands.

-- Ayelet Amittay

Tuesday, November 25

©2008 RosebudPenfold


Let my dream while I'm wide-awake
loose. Let me be drowned, baptized,
in the light given me. Day comes around,
night, fall, winter, spring,
summer. Leaves overhead, underfoot.
Waves arrive, buffets from friends
offended, enemies. Let it all come:
this is my way, this is the canoe I'm in.

-- William Stafford

Saturday, November 8


pond|leaves ©2008 RosebudPenfold


On the last day of the world
I would want to plant a tree

what for
not for the fruit

the tree that bears the fruit
is not the one that was planted

I want the tree that stands
in the earth for the first time

with the sun already
going down

and the water
touching its roots

in the earth full of the dead
and the clouds passing

one by one
over its leaves

-- W.S. Merwin Migration