JOURNEY

The winter walk home from school
after wrestling practice started
in twilight, ended in darkness.

The long trudge along the steel tracks
made time for thought, sometimes
for dreams and prayers.

Lights from the occasional farmhouse
gave comfort, as did the dogs
who lived there, their barking
at the unseen invader of their territory
a reassurance of order in the universe.

There were nights when moonlight
made the rails ahead gleam
like two straight lines of cold fire
stretching into the distance, the future.

HANGING TREE

Did you ever hear about
the hanging tree? We hadn't.
Come, he said, I'll drive you there.
On the way he told us about
the huge oak standing in
his family's back yard
that had served as gallows
for condemned prisoners.

Taken from the county jail,
made to sit on a horse
standing under the thick
lowest limb, they were jerked
into the air, kicking till
they breathed their last.

The tree, he told us, stood
sixty feet high. We arrived
at the house where he said
he had lived as a boy and
heard stories about the men
who were strung up to die.
He led out back and pointed.

There, he said. We gaped.
Where's the tree? We asked.
Oh, it's been gone for
over a hundred years, he said.
It stood right over there.

I AM NOT A COOK

I am not a cook, not really.
    I use a cookbook and follow it
        slavishly. My idea of creativity

consists of adding an extra
    1/4 teaspoon of paprika
        to the Betty Crocker recipe

for chili. But I do enjoy cutting
    up the vegetables for a stir
        fry. I like the way the knife

slices through a carrot and
    makes a thunk with each slice
        and I feel great when someone,

anyone, at the table
    says: this is pretty good.
        But I am not a cook.

CIVIL (WAR) DISOBEDIENCE

It is said that during America's
Civil War, when Mennonite young men
from Virginia were drafted into
the army, complaints were registered
about them: they were not good soldiers.
One of their officers agreed that such
criticism against them was justified,
but in one respect only.
They were, he said, model soldiers:
well-behaved, respectful of authority.
When ordered to march, they marched.
When ordered to close ranks, they did so.
They kept their rifles oiled and cleaned.
They faced the enemy bravely.
When they heard the command
    -- Ready. Aim. Fire! --
They readied their weapons, they fired.
But, alas, they disobeyed in one regard.
They did not aim.

BETRAYAL

"And as soon as he was come,
he goeth straightway to him, and saith,
Master, master; and kissed him."
    (Mark 14:45)

English ivy embraces
Our backyard oak
It looks like
A mutually beneficial relationship
But it's not
It's a death squeeze
Not all hugs
Not all kisses
Can be trusted

HAMMER MILL

It began with a slow whine
and built to an angry roar.

On this day it might have been Menno Shelly
shoveling the ears of corn on his truck
into the metal jaws that swallowed
then tore apart cobs and kernels,
transforming them into what
was called simply "chop."

It happened daily at the feed mill
where my father worked. Eight years
of age made me old enough to be
there to watch and marvel at men
who lifted and carried hundred pound
feed bags, handing out good-
natured insults to each other, often
shouting them over the ear-blasting
noise of the hammer mill.

More than anything
I wanted to grow up to be one of them.

GOD'S ECONOMY

The mulch pile at the Camp Hill
Recycling Center towers ten feet
above my head. Ground-up limbs,
branches, twigs are here for the taking.
Just bring your buckets and your bags
and haul it away. Scatter it
around your shrubs and trees.

Could it be that nothing, nothing
is ever lost? Could it be that everything
passes on to something else, to be
reformed, transformed? Even you,
even me. Even that butterfly over there,
flirting with the black-eyed Susan.