David Jackson

Even Then He Knew It

——————————————————————————–

——————————————————————————–

Even then he knew it. Smashing his fist into that man’s face with all the force he could muster and the weight of the body, the movement of his arm, shoulder, feeling the cheek give way, knowing what it was to feel what some feel, when, at the moment they are helpless and know that they must kill.

He felt it too in his own one moment over something foolish said. With his beer only halfway to his mouth, he knew he would and he did. That man knew it too though possibly he never felt it, only the hints of it somewhere else where he had forgotton.

And as his arm moved, his hand, as he lost control, he saw the knowledge in that man’s eyes staring into his own as a mirror reflecting his own memory. He couldn’t stop himself. He was beyond that point. Both knew it. He swung again and again. That man bled. Someone grabbed him. He turned, swung unseeing, returned to that man, who, weaker and weaker tried to stop, now only with his eyes, and that is what stopped him as quickly as he had begun with his best friend yelling into his ear, “God damn it you fool! That’s your brother.”

***

In the Lap of the Great Mother

No restless yearnings

to go here or there

to wear costly garments

silk underwear.

No need for more.

We sleep in her lap

then awake in her love

covered

over with air.

To Earthward
Robert Frost

——————————————————————————–

Love at the lips was touch
As sweet as I could bear;
And once that seemed too much;
I lived on air

That crossed me from sweet things,
The flow of–was it musk
From hidden grapevine springs
Downhill at dusk?

I had the swirl and ache
From sprays of honeysuckle
That when they’re gathered shake
Dew on the knuckle.

I craved strong sweets, but those
Seemed strong when I was young;
The petal of the rose
It was that stung.

Now no joy but lacks salt,
That is not dashed with pain
And weariness and fault;
I crave the stain

Of tears, the aftermark
Of almost too much love,
The sweet of bitter bark
And burning clove.

When stiff and sore and scarred
I take away my hand
From leaning on it hard
In grass and sand,

The hurt is not enough:
I long for weight and strength
To feel the earth as rough
To all my length.

From The Poetry of Robert Frost by Robert Frost, edited by Edward Connery Lathem. Copyright 1916, 1923, 1928, 1930, 1934, 1939, 1947, 1949, © 1969 by Holt Rinehart and Winston, Inc. Copyright 1936, 1942, 1944, 1945, 1947, 1948, 1951, 1953, 1954, © 1956, 1958, 1959, 1961, 1962 by Robert Frost. Copyright © 1962, 1967, 1970 by Leslie Frost Ballantine.

***

The Road Not Taken
Robert Frost

Two roads diverged in a yellow wood,
And sorry I could not travel both
And be one traveler, long I stood
And looked down one as far as I could
To where it bent in the undergrowth;

Then took the other, as just as fair,
And having perhaps the better claim,
Because it was grassy and wanted wear;
Though as for that the passing there
Had worn them really about the same,

And both that morning equally lay
In leaves no step had trodden black.
Oh, I kept the first for another day!
Yet knowing how way leads on to way,
I doubted if I should ever come back.

I shall be telling this with a sigh
Somewhere ages and ages hence:
Two roads diverged in a wood, and I–
I took the one less traveled by,
And that has made all the difference.

From The Poetry of Robert Frost by Robert Frost, edited by Edward Connery Lathem. Copyright 1916, 1923, 1928, 1930, 1934, 1939, 1947, 1949, © 1969 by Holt Rinehart and Winston, Inc. Copyright 1936, 1942, 1944, 1945, 1947, 1948, 1951, 1953, 1954, © 1956, 1958, 1959, 1961, 1962 by Robert Frost. Copyright © 1962, 1967, 1970 by Leslie Frost Ballantine.

***