Aunt Marthy was packin a twelve gauge
when she hid us under the weeping willow.
Me and momma pressed flat to fescue
but Marthy weren't afraid, said,
Don't come after them, Dave.
I'll have to pump some buckshot in you
and that'll make it damn hard to sing
Amazin Grace at the famly reunion.
He left and when Aunt Marthy stood
I thought she'd raise into the air,
up through the green-ceiling'd light
and take me with her to a place
where we'd sit on a cloud
and touch a finger to God's,
just like in that pitcher book.
I will find beautiful things
strip them to the meat
in a whirlwind
but gently so the wood
as it did today
on our first time together
I was careless
scoured through the paint
will be graceful
I'll give you a new face
stain it nutmeg brown
to match your wooden eyes
through snow so fine
in whorls and grains
I see your future