A pilgrim’s progress

This entry is part 2 of 4 in the series Morning Porch Poems: Autumn 2015


Even when the clouds parted
I knew no gods would deliver

us from our troubles.
Having made do for so long,

I had only myself for counsel.
In a country where divorce

is not legal, no court-
appointed psychologist

would guarantee I was
afflicted most by the fevers

of irreconcilability.
Rain fell and fell, making

around our dwelling a kind
of moat. Does subsistence

signify an awning
spread over some kind

of life? I used to hide
part of my weekly paycheck

in a pillow slip. I gathered
children in my arms

and built a crossing
of grass and words. Now I dream

that angels with flaming swords
might still sweep down to clear

the way— Perhaps, they live
in the wood; perhaps they are

the ones who tint the skins
of leaves and make whole

groves of trees look lit: on fire,
the hour just before dusk.

~ after “Curious Isle,” Clive Hicks-Jenkins; oil pastel on paper


In response to an entry from the Morning Porch.

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