Recall the dream you had the other night:
a hodgepodge structure, living room and porch,
people sitting out there in the dark, no light
but moon and stars, the flare of a kitchen match
at the bowl of papaw’s pipe- wasn’t he
a big man!- Prince Albert tobacco smoke, the wind.
The exposed room is full of cousins, see
the silhouettes of aunts and uncles, a friend
from second grade. Try to read to them, to ease
the voice above the persistent grandfather clock’s
ticking. Tomatoes, jalapenos, potatoes, peas-
the text has turned to gullion in your hand.
Mamaw, in her rocker in the corner darning socks:
why doesn’t he do something we all can understand.
reading
© philip kimball 2009
first published in I-70 REVIEW, Lawrence, Kansas, 2003