A Day in JulyWhy do I think of you two, now?
This hot day and your bones in cool loam
so long, it seems.
You, twins and I, a third musketeer
as we careened
through hot summers before.
Working . . . drinking.
You taking me from white bread
to fry bread.
I hear the council drum.
Working . . . drinking.
It’s concrete work. Building a bridge.
Old man Bultman driving us like slaves
that summer hot as this.
Working . . . drinking. Week-end
pow wow at Shawano and I, dating your sister.
Your dad, old Esau, quiet.
Liking me O.K., ‘til then.
And my ma - looking pretty liberal, ‘til then.
And me, backing off.
Less work . . . less drink . . . less sister.
And she to Alaska and you
working . . . drinking –
earning so early your places to settle down
in the cool of the earth.
And I,
unable to hear the drum,
do not weep.
- Ralph Murre 2005
from Crude Red Boat, Cross + Roads Press 2007
2 comments:
This is beautiful. The rhythm reflects the drum beats you wrote of. The repetition adds to the beat. It was like hearing the hammer, drums, and a heart beat. Wonderful.
I loved this! The images kind of build slowly in your mind.
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