Praxis: A Passing Through
In recognition of the words and deeds
of Bill Cook and Howard Feddema.
As July slips into August
the two bartletts squeezed
into the narrow strip
between driveway
and neighbor’s fence
slowly bend
heavy, green and straining.
Recognition comes in
bumps along the van roof
that summer has again
transitioned the delicate
white blossoms of April
into thumping adolescents
rumbling across a wooden floor.
Two overdue ladies
standing side by side,
patient in their waiting time;
waiting for that unburden:
anxious perhaps
for a lighter duty,
for those cool nights
and slow to warm days
of fading summer light.
As the pears round and ripen,
the fruit sweetens; some
fall and roll across the drive
or gather in piles along the fence--
resting deep in shade, but
most remain, waitin
to be plucked or to fall--
sending aromatic signals
to the neighborhood squirrels.
The fox, the grey,
the black, the red in turn;
often in churlish
competition — liberate
the young ladies of
each corpulent child.
Steadily easing the knobby limbs,
leaving only the extremes--
gradually lured outward
in a delicate balance
of weight, pear and purchase.
The effort’s accretion
is witnessed by a
random thrashing
high in green branches,
thump of too heavy pear, and
short undulation
across the drive; or
successful dispatch
of juicy exertion
resulting in a quiet repast
on fence top rail
or clamp mouth run
down the length;
disappearing within
the shadowed side
of the garage.
Finally the day comes
and the ladies are
at rest again — the
diminutive black squirrel
has taken the last pear;
clamped hard and run,
head drooping,
over the fence
to take a bite or two
and let go this pear,
like all the others
back to the ground.
The bartletts rest
and soak up September
now October sun,
and in stillness
quietly release their
variegated black,
green and yellow leaves
to follow their attractive children—
scattered,
here and there,
by squirrels and wind.
Oyasumi nasai.
East Lansing
May 2, 2007
East Lansing Series
©2007 Praxis: A Passing Through — Joseph W. Yarbrough
Reproduction prohibited without written permission.
of Bill Cook and Howard Feddema.
As July slips into August
the two bartletts squeezed
into the narrow strip
between driveway
and neighbor’s fence
slowly bend
heavy, green and straining.
Recognition comes in
bumps along the van roof
that summer has again
transitioned the delicate
white blossoms of April
into thumping adolescents
rumbling across a wooden floor.
Two overdue ladies
standing side by side,
patient in their waiting time;
waiting for that unburden:
anxious perhaps
for a lighter duty,
for those cool nights
and slow to warm days
of fading summer light.
As the pears round and ripen,
the fruit sweetens; some
fall and roll across the drive
or gather in piles along the fence--
resting deep in shade, but
most remain, waitin
to be plucked or to fall--
sending aromatic signals
to the neighborhood squirrels.
The fox, the grey,
the black, the red in turn;
often in churlish
competition — liberate
the young ladies of
each corpulent child.
Steadily easing the knobby limbs,
leaving only the extremes--
gradually lured outward
in a delicate balance
of weight, pear and purchase.
The effort’s accretion
is witnessed by a
random thrashing
high in green branches,
thump of too heavy pear, and
short undulation
across the drive; or
successful dispatch
of juicy exertion
resulting in a quiet repast
on fence top rail
or clamp mouth run
down the length;
disappearing within
the shadowed side
of the garage.
Finally the day comes
and the ladies are
at rest again — the
diminutive black squirrel
has taken the last pear;
clamped hard and run,
head drooping,
over the fence
to take a bite or two
and let go this pear,
like all the others
back to the ground.
The bartletts rest
and soak up September
now October sun,
and in stillness
quietly release their
variegated black,
green and yellow leaves
to follow their attractive children—
scattered,
here and there,
by squirrels and wind.
Oyasumi nasai.
East Lansing
May 2, 2007
East Lansing Series
©2007 Praxis: A Passing Through — Joseph W. Yarbrough
Reproduction prohibited without written permission.