JOHN SELAWSKY

April

On Good Friday, salmon and sorrel from the garden.
Hardly as cruel as February, or March.
Try that under snow, or the darkness of heavy rain.
They would, if they could, remove all variability.
As if beauty and goodness were this readily assignable.
I have heard it said, on speaker-phone conversations,
read it in intraoffice memos, on directives
to those who do the work. So that the weather
and an emotion and the moment are all easily defined.
And they see no danger in that path. No self-defeating goal.
No excess of control nor cancellation of the chance
that actually has placed them where they are.
No ultimate removal of themselves as singular and pure.
Maybe whatever it is that you want is a liability.
Maybe to understand you have to strip away.
Clear the underbrush to view the ground.
Maybe you have to return to this beginning.
Break bread and plant seed and do less harm.
If you possibly can, stand naked in the sun.

copyright 2003 JOHN SELAWSKY