night, orchard

I took my pardon leaving

sudden, young

I took no part,

but I did take part

in what my kin have done

who leaves home in December?

I took my life in chancing

redemption in the west, my

north and south was breaking

behind me black fruit swinging

I took my leave by taking

a leap at passing light

time come a visit back

a much-remembered photograph

hangs in the workshed

“Is that snow there uncle?

“fixed him good did’n we? Had to. Hell, course it’s snow, wer’nt but fifty mile to Memphis, boy”.

He was born into a garden

then fell into a coma

that lasted about eighty-seven years, and while he was asleep

he did all these things

saved his brother from a burning house

drove whiskey-drunk, careening, my mother then a girl in the seat beside

raised three lovely daughters

took an asian mistress

posed with friends, duty done,

in morning’s solemn light

I think we love any cord that binds us to family

Sweet repentance awoke him late

in his chair there by the little lake

and he wanted to thank the old black woman who had

tended him all that time

by letting her pick all she wanted

“I did’n have to do it, but those nigs, they shore love okra.”