Monday, July 27, 2015


This poet repeatedly edges
to the holy mountain looking for a father
to direct him and experiences pilgrimages, 
yes, more than one, worth writing about. He tortures 
me slow because women are banned from 
this sacred rock. He spills the decorative 
foam from his coffee on my white shirt
when I tell him his writing
pissed me off with jealousy
all shades of green. He wants to 
make amends by sopping up the 
mess - but I'm leaving it forever and 
might even frame it. Little did he know
he already fixed everything when he 
sang Steve Goodman's Spoon River 
the night before, surprising us all 
with his rich, winsome vocals. I also forgive
 him the ease with which he spills
vulnerability all over the 
stage and into the sound system
 when he reads another 
idiot psalm to us 
with a voice resonant 
enough to etch wood grain. His
words need stored up if we're to be
 saved from suffering during the next 
seven year draught.

Scott Cairns - Kindlingfest, Orcas Island Washington, 2015