She Sang

I will sing - She sang,
Of stories wondrous and dwelling in Beaulah
Old, old stories, told to the nations;
Wonderful words of love, of whispering hope
“Sing them over again,”
She sang.

Standing - She sang,
Eyes closed, open, at peace,
Seeing glory, feeling glory, singing glory.
Leading, leaning, learning, leaving no praise unsung,
She sang

We heard - Her singing,
Commanded, following, joining voices, adding praise,
Tunes drawn up from the dry wells of our minds,
Awed, inspired by the power in the blood,
And her power as
She sang.

The place - She sang,
Quiet most days, rang out with out-of-tune-piano,
Overcoming outside sounds of galvanized spinning steel,
Singing its wind-song.
Out-singing even mocking birds,
She sang.

Sundays, - She sang,
Over South Texas Summer squalls and
Sighing spring-greened Mesquite.
Over howling winter northers and
Fall’s sweaty southeast sea bluster,
She sang.

Still. - She sings.
And will always, for what she sang about
Saves that sound as it saved the sight of dim eyes, and
Saved those who heard and joined that chorus, for
In my knowing still remains that which
She sang.

(for Mama)


I Saw Him Going

I saw him going,
But, his going was not for my seeing then or now;
In those days, making a living was what he went for
And his living was my living in those days.

He went to build
The new house for us seven, but then there were nine:
Mamma had twins;
Philip, go get the cows, he said,
When he came home from the hospital in the Ford.

He got up early
To go on arsenic spewing tractor, demanded by dew laden cotton fields
To destroy pink boll worms, but it turned cancer on him,
So he went to his hospitals of springtime.

He dressed to go
In suit and tie to teach about Jesus and Paul and he went
To support Adlai and direct the workings of the COOP
And "Daddy, can we go?" and sometimes we could.

He climbed to the top
Of dizzying oil derricks with whirring, finger snatching steel,
Of roofs to patch hail damage, of windmills to fix the drive,
Always ready to reach down for an up-stretched hand.

Mamma saw him go,
Out into the Gulfstream, as she stood on the hot beach sand;
There he was, sun-reflecting head, floating high, way out;
She smiled; for his was her life, then as now.

Some summers he went
Out West, back East, up North, never South, in Chevy or Pontiac;
Pacific, Atlantic, Colombia, Mississippi, Potomac, Appalachians, Rockies,
Redwoods, sweetgums, granite spires, limestone cliffs, passed in a blur.

Where he couldn't go
He read of, drinking in words of places like tall glasses of iced tea
Telling of strange named countries that weren't before and aren't anymore,
Walking, in his mind, among Hottentots and Lapplanders.

Another spring he lay,
Going no place, in white sheets, with tubes, beeps and blinking lights;
Brown, plump, strong, clean fingernailed hands lying useless,
But ready next spring to go grub mesquites from the field.

I saw him going
Another last Spring, maps and charts of his mind more chicken scratches
Than routes and directions, paths dim, not seen clearly, but finally,
Directed toward the Father's own way home.

(for Daddy)