Reader’s Digest
Father’s letters
were always plain and direct;
visually an etching in black ink
on white typing paper
all clean strokes
of indelible ink
penned without mistake
or revision of thought
or hand.
Rocking back and forth
in the current to some
rhythm that no longer
revives, sustains
or endures — the old
trout is caught
against the log
lying next to my feet
canted on its side
resting on the bottom
of the glass clear stream
wounded from causes unknowable;
yet perfect as it
should right itself
and flash into deeper water
as it always had.
Tumbling now out of his
letters came clippings
from Reader’s Digest --
dozens of Quotable Quotes
scattered like marbles released
from the edge of the Baptist’s Church pew
no longer confined
to the safety of their bag.
As I opened each fresh
envelope, unfolded the letter
the tiny digests of Digest
surprised me each time
erupting and twisting as
they descended to
rest on the floor
the countless chosen
became random thoughts
like infertile seeds
waiting in the darkness
for the earth, sun & rain
that can not revive.
The neat printing
etched in black ink
had become a scrawl
of blue loops nearly
unreadable as it
illegibly descended
the page in a
random collapse
like the minute fluttering
clippings that
came to rest against my leg.
East Lansing
February 13, 2010
Nokomis Series
©2010 Reader’s Digest— Joseph W. Yarbrough
Reproduction prohibited without written permission.
were always plain and direct;
visually an etching in black ink
on white typing paper
all clean strokes
of indelible ink
penned without mistake
or revision of thought
or hand.
Rocking back and forth
in the current to some
rhythm that no longer
revives, sustains
or endures — the old
trout is caught
against the log
lying next to my feet
canted on its side
resting on the bottom
of the glass clear stream
wounded from causes unknowable;
yet perfect as it
should right itself
and flash into deeper water
as it always had.
Tumbling now out of his
letters came clippings
from Reader’s Digest --
dozens of Quotable Quotes
scattered like marbles released
from the edge of the Baptist’s Church pew
no longer confined
to the safety of their bag.
As I opened each fresh
envelope, unfolded the letter
the tiny digests of Digest
surprised me each time
erupting and twisting as
they descended to
rest on the floor
the countless chosen
became random thoughts
like infertile seeds
waiting in the darkness
for the earth, sun & rain
that can not revive.
The neat printing
etched in black ink
had become a scrawl
of blue loops nearly
unreadable as it
illegibly descended
the page in a
random collapse
like the minute fluttering
clippings that
came to rest against my leg.
East Lansing
February 13, 2010
Nokomis Series
©2010 Reader’s Digest— Joseph W. Yarbrough
Reproduction prohibited without written permission.