Gripping the lectern, rocking it, searching the faces for the souls, for signs of heartfelt mindfulness at work, I thought, as I recited words I wrote in tears: instead of tears, if I had understood my father's business, I could be selling men's clothes. I could be kneeling, complimenting someone at the bay of mirrors, mumblingly, with pinpoints pressed between my lips. That was the life I held in scorn while young, because I thought to live without distraction, using words. Yet, looking now into the room of strangers' eyes, I wanted them to feel what I said touch, as palpably as when a men in double worsted felt the cuff drop to his wrist. There was a rush in the applause of gratitude and mercy: they could go. A teenager, embarrassed for himself and me, lefthandedly squeezed my fingers, and said thanks.
- by Brooks Haxton3
Cattle egrets in the dry grass waded like white clerics at the hooves of brood cows, heifers, and new calves.
Forked lightning. Calm. The darkness in the cattle tank welled up and flooded the reflection of the trees.
Turkey vultures wheeled, and wheeled away. No swifts, no swallows, children gone indoors. Rain seethed into the willowtops,
sky flashing, while the black bull under the water locust glowed with an inward surge of darkness
Poems by Brooks Haxton, Brooks Haxton's poems collection. Brooks Haxton is a classical and famous poet (1950 - / Greenville / Mississippi). Share all poems of Brooks Haxton.