This poem requires some brief explanation. Some time ago, between positions, I was working as a church custodian. While I was working setting up chairs tables etc in a large room, a young gal, from a child care organization renting space in the church, came past me with the most tearful, sorrowful face. I knew her mother, who was from the same area of New Jersey where I was raised. I noticed the gal in the sanctuary crying and praying. I went to her and asked what was wrong. “I killed him Vern, just as surely as if I had done it myself. You see I had two boyfriends, lovers to be honest, and one died in a construction accident, where the other was also involved. I killed him. I should not have loved both of them.” Not knowing what to do or say and overcome by the sadness of it all, I put my arm around her, cupped her praying hands in mine, and told her “There is no sin that God does not have the power to forgive, you merely need to ask. I have some chores yet to do in the other room, so if you need me, you know where to find me.” While she prayed for forgiveness, I prayed that I might be shown a way to ease her incredible pain. When my chores were finished I checked on her and noticed that by now she was on her knees bitterly weeping as though inconsolable. So I went and got her mother and told her mother to take her home and leave someone to watch over her. After work I went home and wrote this poem, which I gave to her a week later, when the initial pangs of grief had passed.
Two Leaves
Two leaves grew
upon an ancient oak
in a primal forest,
amid a carpet of ferns
and lichens green.
Sheltering an acorn,
they touched each other
and danced in a cool
enchanting summer breeze,
drinking in the light.
As the rains fell,
the droplets formed
upon these leaves are
felt as though they were
an Angel’s tears.
Replenished, Earth
took up these drops
to nurture the oak
and wash the ferns
upon the ground.
When autumn came,
one leaf turned red
and the other brown;
whereupon they fell
amid the ferns below.
And in the thicket,
a timid Doe came
to lay her fawn,
amid the soft bed,
where these leaves lay.
Sheltered in these leaves,
the fawn feels not
the winter cold and snow;
and grows into a doe
to birth some future fawn.
The acorn is protected
by the fawns warmth,
waiting until the spring
to emerge as a sprig
and grow into a mighty oak.
The oak falls to give
birth to a new ground
and mark the spot,
for the future fawn
and the newborn oak.
And so it goes,
as sad as it may seem,
infinite consciousness
has decreed a new
ever eternity of life.
***
Below a welkin arch
with Gothic niches,
this poet sees seated
a young tear-filled woman
with an angelic face.
Saddened and distraught
over her glimpse into Eternity,
she sheds her deep felt tears
as if they were jewels
in a heavenly necklace.
The poet touches her gently
to ease the pearl-drop tears
into the deeper recesses
of her angelic heart,
where they will forever stay;
Where they will keep alive
the memory of that him
who was the object of her distress,
and hence give birth to future him-s
as providence has decreed.
November 24, 1996
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