The Lost Poem
The immortal earth of page after page
Of worn remembrances
Of told but forgotten spirits
The lost poem you were told to memorize
And waited until the last moment
To look for
Even though her notes were gone
As you and her mentor
Stirred from his retirement
Out of kindness
Frantically search for them
At the 11th hour
She herself is also nowhere to be found
And you tell him
You never had any intention of memorizing them
You tell him that even the dull-witted young minister
With the 24 lined hymns
Read from notes on top of a lectern.
“Look,” he says, pulling a large leather-bound book from her top shelf
“Is this where it came from?”
The author is familiar to you as he begins leafing through onion-skinned pages
Dust rising, illustrations of detailed animals leaping into your vision
Detailed landscapes, mountains of beauty
Together you both scan the pages
Reciting the words that fall into your eyes
Hoping to find that magic of that familiar poem
Then he turns a page of a title
That sounds close
His old finger touching the thin leaf
Mumbling
“Let me see,” you say
And read aloud the first two lines:
“The immortal earth
The precious immortality of the earth is wont of nothing more
Than to our souls immortal worth…”
“This is it,” comes your whisper
You read more
Looking for the monkey and the dog
There it is . . .
“Can I take this book to the ceremony?” you ask
The answer is definite
No.
Of course not.
No.
The book is too fragile
Too valuable
Too old and precious
Like the earth itself
And she would never speak to either of them again
If they took it
“Copy it down”
And you do.
The old man leaves you alone
You begin writing down every word for the people
Even for the young minister who thinks you are the stupid one
They will all get to hear the words
Memorized or not
In just a nick of time.
“The extinction of entire species
Cause no tears of the monkey
With no hair
As he emerges from the beauty and the sublime glory
Of the pounding rain
Into silence
Only to chain his dog
To his small yard
Once again.”
“There is the rain of blessing
And the sun of hope
As the lamb totters
On her first steps
Onto the April promise.
The monkey weeps –
Finally the monkey cries
At last.”
The audience remembers your reading
And the woman is still missing.
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