A Good Life
I am now older
Than the breeze
Coming in from
The Sea of Galilee
My legs root me here
To the ground beneath
The reed roofed, porch.
My grandchildren
Hide in my beard like
Little birds
Then move through the
Grove of fig and date
I planted, once I was able to.
The little ones scribble
Their names in the sand,
Afresh each morning,
After the goats have trampled
Yesterday’s names under foot.
I think of him often as I sit
No longer at home in my town,
the town that wouldn’t help.
He died some time ago,
I was there
A thousand people
Stood in the Samarian mid-day sun
to say farewell.
Behttps://heartoffleshlit.com/issue-four/bernard-pearson/rnard Pearson
